


give your heart and soul to charity (cause the rest of you belongs to me)

by zanthetran



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Choking, Crack, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Fucking, Human!Doctor, Porn With Plot, Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, age gap, every top is a bottom!, there is a small bit of plot if you squint I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanthetran/pseuds/zanthetran
Summary: Najia takes Yaz to one of her bi-yearly work events. Yaz meets the Doctor, an old family friend. I'm sure you can tell exactly where this is going.orthe doctor is a hot lady and yaz is really really gay. no one is allowed to look at me if you read this. (also known to myself as milf au)
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 54
Kudos: 188





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> did I make the doctor a milf? yeah, I did. do I regret it in the slightest? not at all. I tagged it as age gap but it’s like. less than what the show technically is ok so no one can argue. uh there Will be a part 2 and then I dont really have anything planned for this so I might just keep it at that unless I get Inspired (or this takes off).
> 
> this is one thousand percent inspired by the song Dead Man Walking by Jon Bellion and I’ve been thinking about it for weeks trying to figure out how to make it fit thasmin and finally just decided to do it even if it’s unreadable crack.
> 
> written to: classic by mkto (think it’s fitting)
> 
> title from: nfwmb by hozier

From the time Yaz was really little, Najia always had what she called her Work Friends who came over for dinner or just to talk on the balcony over glasses of bright red wine. Yaz and Sonya would hide behind the couch and listen to their muffled voices and laughing until their mum found them and would shoo them off to their beds again. Sometimes they’d reenact the scenes the next day, pretending they were important business women and could drink wine (cherry juice) and laugh and have important conversations (because everything adults talk about is important). It isn’t until Yaz is almost twenty-two that her mum asks if she will go with her to one of the biyearly events for her work, and Yaz can’t think of anything better to do on her night off, so she agrees.

They make a thing of it, calling it their Girl Time. They go out one day, a week before the event, trying on dresses and eating lunch at a nice restaurant, and then Yaz sort of forgets about it for a few days — _sort of_ meaning she completely forgets about it and is eating fish and chips with Ryan at the park when her mum calls, asking where she is and telling her they’ll be late if she doesn’t get ready soon.

“ _Shit,_ ” she curses, checking her watch and standing up. “I gotta go, fancy dinner tonight and I’m late,” she explains. She takes off running towards her flat and says over her shoulder, “I’ll call you this week, yeah?”

Ryan waves her off and she runs down the back streets and through familiar alleyways until she comes upon the back entrance of her building. She takes the stairs, breathing heavy the entire time, and finally bursts through the front door. Her mum is already dressed and doing her hair in the bathroom as Yaz passes to get to her own room. She sticks her head into the hallway and yells after her, “You’ve got ten minutes, Yasmin!”

“Gotcha!” Yaz calls back, shutting the bedroom door behind her and peeling off her clothes as fast as she can. If she hurries getting dressed she’ll have time to straighten her hair, but either way there’s definitely no time for a shower. She frantically rummages around in her underwear drawer, looking for a specific thong that won’t leave lines on the back of her dress and she spends far too long looking for it. She finally just pulls the dress on over the underwear she’s already wearing, turning around in the mirror to see if you can really tell. The lines are clearly visible cutting down her butt. She groans and rolls her eyes and pulls off her underwear, kicking them to the side and looking back in the mirror. The lines are gone and she’ll just deal without, she doesn’t have time to try and find something better, and slips on her heels. She quickly rubs deodorant on and dabs perfume at her pulse points and wrists and hopes the shower she had yesterday is good enough.

She checks the time on her phone — four minutes — and runs into the bathroom, practically pushing her own mother out of the way. She plugs in the straightener and starts on her makeup as the hair tool heats up. She doesn’t have time for anything spectacular and just goes for a neutral look to match the tan tone of her dress. She does a decent job on her hair considering the time restraints and she’s just spraying a setting spray when her mom calls her name from the living room.

“Yaz! The car is here, we need to go,” she calls. Yaz grabs her phone and a small clutch with her wallet and lipstick inside then follows her mum out the door.

The car is sleek and black with smooth leather seats. Yaz raises her eyes to her mum when she spots the small ice chest in front of them full of soda, water, and champagne.

“Work paid for it,” Najia shrugs, pulling out a water. Yaz does the same and the cool liquid does nothing to get the taste of vinegar and salt from the fish and chips out of her mouth, which she had forgotten to brush ( _damn it_ ). The sequins on her dress dig into the skin of her thighs and she sort of regrets not wearing underwear (but hey, she really didn’t have time to find any).

The reception is held in a large hall dotted with standing tables covered in sleek black tablecloths, little jars holding floating lights at the center of each. People in suits and dresses far more extravagant than what Yaz is wearing mill about, drinking wine and whiskey and whatever else the bar offers. Najia introduces Yaz to her two colleagues when she gets back from the bar with two glasses of wine and she hands one to her mother, reaching out with her free hand to shake the two men’s hands. She makes polite conversation with the one in the grey suit (and has already forgotten his name, oops) while she sips on her wine.

Sometime after she finishes her first glass, her mum is pulled away by some other colleague and a bit later, after the two men make their departure, Yaz ends up sitting on a bench with a large older man who keeps putting his sweaty hand on her knee and she’s about ready to snap the neck of this wine glass because she can’t snap his (she’s a cop, it would be so much paperwork). She counts back from ten in her head to calm herself down as she moves her leg for the fifth time to knock his hand off. It doesn’t work and his grip actually tightens as he leans close, breath stinking of cigarettes and cheap gum.

“Why don’t we —“ he starts to say (and Yaz doesn’t even need to guess where he wanted to go with that sentence) when a figure walks over, hands in the pockets of navy slacks and confident stride.

“Yasmin Khan, it’s been a few years, hasn’t it?” The woman regards Yaz, completely ignoring the man. Hazel eyes glance once over her form before pulling back to brown and Yaz feels a flush start at the base of her neck and work it’s way up.

She plays along, considering she really has no idea who this woman is. “It has. How’ve you been?”

The woman ignores the question and slides her eyes to the man, or more specifically his hand still resting on Yaz’s thigh. She raises a single neat eyebrow and he pulls his hand back, her presence alone enough to intimidate him. “How ‘bout you let Miss Khan and I talk, Robert,” she practically growls, voice low enough that no one in the near vicinity can hear a thing.

The man — Robert, apparently — stands up with a hard clearing of his throat and nods once to the Doctor, ignoring Yaz’s presence entirely as he makes his leave. The woman watches until he’s swallowed back into the crowd, then turns back to Yaz. “Is that seat taken?”

“Please, go ahead,” Yaz says. “Do we really know each other?”

The blonde sits down and crosses her legs, leaning back against the plush velvet and resting her arm on the top of the bench (more like a sofa, really). “We do. I’ve been to your flat more than once over the years, but just for tea, mostly. You were young, though, wouldn’t expect you to remember that.” She leans forward and offers her hand. “I’m the Doctor, by the way,” she says with a grin.

A waiter brings over a glass of wine and hands it to her. Okay, so obviously she’s pretty important around here if even the waitstaff know her drink preferences and are bringing them without prompting, Yaz thinks.

“So what are you up to now, Yasmin?” She asks, taking a sip from her glass.

“Became a cop,” Yaz says. “Just finished my probationary period.”

The Doctor’s eyes drag down her body then snap back up. “Huh, ya don’t say.”

Talking to the Doctor is…surprisingly easy — easier than Yaz would’ve assumed talking to a woman almost twice her age and ten times as successful would be. She’s an easy conversationalist, if a little excited (about absolutely anything, with no relation between subjects). Yaz mentions her cat and the Doctor’s face lights up, and then Yaz is moving closer to her on the couch, the Doctor’s arm still hung over the back of the sofa.

She scrolls through her photos on her phone, showing the Doctor the little black mass. The Doctor coos excitedly at a particularly cute picture of him laying on Yaz’s bed when Yaz looks up and realizes they are a _lot_ closer than she had thought. Her breath catches in her throat at the proximity of their faces (if she wanted to she could — but she _doesn’t_ want to, so no reason to even think about that). She swears she sees the Doctor’s eyes flick down to her mouth for a brief second but it’s over by the time she realizes and it could’ve (probably is) just been in her head.

The Doctor’s hot breath ghosts over her lips when she speaks. “Cute cat.”

“Yeah, he is,” she agrees, and she should definitely move away now right? Like, this is a friend of her mother’s, a woman twice her age, she should move away because this is probably bordering on inappropriate, right?

She doesn’t move away, because she’s hopelessly gay and useless against hazel eyes that suddenly look a lot darker than before.

“Do you want to get a drink later?” The Doctor practically whispers. It’s like all the noise around them is muted in their bubble.

Yaz opens her mouth to answer — to say _no_ because she knows what that means, she’s not stupid, and she is not sleeping with a friend of her mothers.

“Doctor!” Najia calls out excitedly, walking up behind Yaz.

She jumps almost an entire foot in the air, moving a bit away on the couch while the Doctor looks past her at Yaz’s approaching mother. Her eyes light back up and she grins and stands, holding out her arms. “Najia! Been a while, hasn’t it?”

They embrace and Yaz tries to get ahold of herself, _god_. She’s suddenly very much aware of how much of a family friend the Doctor really is as she chats with Najia animatedly about her new position and Sonya’s last football game. Her mum looks at her and says, “So you two have met?”

The Doctor speaks before Yaz can stumble out a half coherent sentence. “Just met. Saved her from _awful_ conversation.” She scrunches her face comically at Yaz and Yaz can’t believe this woman is her mum’s age, really. Sometimes she seems so ancient when she talks, and sometimes she seems like she’s thirteen.

“Ugh, I know, some of the men here will talk without stopping,” her mum says with a roll her her eyes.

The lights overhead flash three times and everyone starts heading to the end of the hall where a small raised stage sits. The Doctor says, “That’s my cue. Was nice meetin’ you, Yaz.” And honest to god _winks_ as she swaggers off, hands shoved in her pockets _._

Yaz follows her mum towards the front of the group, weaving in and out of suits while one hand holds her mum’s, and the other holds her wine glass. Yaz tries to look around at the people for the Doctor without making her mum suspicious but she doesn’t spot the navy tux or blonde hair. When she turns her attention back to the small stage a woman with short brown hair says cheerily, “Our first speaker is the captain of this ship, our CEO and founder.” There’s quite a bit of clapping and the object of Yaz’s searching walks on stage, all the confidence of a straight white man in her stride.

She adjusts the microphone taped to her cheek and says, “Good evening, everyone. I just wanna thank you all for comin’ out tonight.” She locks eyes with Yaz, and alright, if she’s being completely honest, she has no idea what the Doctor’s speech is about, mostly because she’s not really listening and because her mind is screaming _CEO and founder_ over and over again on repeat.

She disappears into the crowd to the left and another man steps up on the stage, talking about the company and the amazing achievements he’s seen developed in their own labs, and then he kisses the Doctor’s ass for probably 3 and a half minutes and Yaz is over it. She doesn’t even bother listening to the next two men who speak, and by the time it’s over she’s ready to get out of there.

Her mum is the worst to get out of parties and Yaz knows if she wants to leave within the next hour and half, she’s going to have to start corralling her mother in the direction of the coat check. Her mum, with all of her amazing, wonderful qualities, is a talker, and knows everyone apparently, and getting her out of a party without having her stop almost every single person she comes across is near impossible. Add that to the fact that her mother has a near photographic memory for details about people and she can talk for hours.

(Really, she just wants to get home so she can lay in bed and grind on her hand and think of blonde hair and navy and strong hands.)

It’s at one of those points that her mum has stopped to talk to some woman about her nephew’s baby, and when the woman pulls out her phone to show pictures Yaz feels a soft hand on her elbow and she turns.

The Doctor grins back at her. “Hi, glad I found ya’. Was worried you’d went ahead and left.” She rocks back on her heels, hands stuck in her pockets.

Yaz nods towards where her mother coos over the baby pictures and says, “I’m tryin’, actually. I’d say another forty minutes if I can rush her a bit.” She looks back at the Doctor, eyebrow raised. “You didn’t tell me you were the CEO.”

She actually shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t come up, forgot, really.”

Her mother yells excitedly at a video of a chubby baby taking it’s shaky first steps. Yaz rolls her eyes.

“Do you still want that drink?” The Doctor asks, eyes dark again, lip pulled between white teeth.

* * *

Yaz tells her mum she’s going with the Doctor to see her lab (apparently it’s close by, and a common thing for the Doctor to show off) and her mum nods, gives her kiss on the cheek and pointing to the Doctor that she better deliver her daughter safe at home. She reminds Yaz to wake her when she gets home and goes back to her conversation with two other women. The Doctor touches her wrist and raises an eyebrow.

Final decision, Yaz thinks (but it’s not really a decision, is it? Because she’s hopelessly gay and this ridiculously attractive woman wants her in her bed, so how on Earth could she say no?).

She follows the Doctor out the reception hall and towards the lift, the opposite way from the front doors or any “lab”. The Doctor doesn’t say anything (or even _touch her_ ) as she sticks a card into the slot on the lift and presses the top button. The metallic doors slide open to what must be the penthouse, considering the lift had taken them directly into the room. The Doctor steps out and drops the key in a basket near the door and heads straight into the kitchen off to the left. Yaz follows at a much slower pace, taking her time to admire the art hung on the walls, the large open space and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city.

The Doctor finds her looking out the large windows, watching the people walk on the streets and looking so small, like miniature dolls. She pads barefoot to Yaz and holds out a small glass of amber liquid.

“You tryna get me drunk?” She quips, taking the glass and then a sip of the (obviously very expensive) whiskey.

“From the way you’re swaying I’d say you’re already half there, love,” the Doctor notes with a raise of her eyebrows.

Yaz knows it’s a bad idea to be here, she knows that. She knows what she’s doing, she’s not drunk or impaired or depressed or anything. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she doesn’t really care (or want to stop).

She looks out the window and says, “Quite beautiful, innit?”

“Yeah, quite,” the Doctor says, and when she turns back to the blonde she finds hazel eyes that had never left her form.

“You in town much?”

The Doctor takes a step into her space, the height difference between them amplified as the Doctor stands there barefoot and Yaz is still wearing her heels. She takes the cup from Yaz’s hand and sets it down on the coffee table behind her.

“Some,” she says when she turns back around. She juts her chin out to look up at Yaz, bringing her lips ever closer.

And Yaz figures one of them might as well say it, so they both know, so it’s out in the open at least. “We shouldn’t do this.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “That’s probably true. Do you want to leave?” The question is sincere, not mocking or angry and judging, just simply asking for permission.

So maybe it’s that — the genuine sincerity in her eyes — or maybe it’s the way Yaz feels her hands itching to tangle in already mussed blonde hair, or maybe it’s the way the Doctor very obviously also wants this, wants _her._ So maybe she wants to feel wanted, that’s not a bad thing, and it certainly doesn’t stop her from cupping the back of the Doctor’s neck and crashing their lips together.

The sigh that escapes the Doctor’s mouth doesn’t go unnoticed and Yaz bites softly on her bottom lip, getting another sigh for her efforts. Hands find her waist but don’t move (still waiting for permission). She grips the lapels of the jacket in front of her and pulls their bodies flush and when they break apart she’s breathing heavy and hopelessly turned on.

“No,” she finally says. “I don’t want to leave."

That’s apparently all the confirmation the Doctor needs before her mouth darts back to Yaz’s neck and bites down on a sharp collar bone. Yaz hisses through her teeth as the Doctor soothes the bite over with her tongue and places open mouthed kisses up her neck. She sucks at the thrumming pulse beneath her lips and bites on an earlobe and Yaz grips hard at the short blonde hair in her hand.

The Doctor chuckles against her skin, pulls the lobe with her teeth and Yaz’s knees go weak as heat shoots straight to her core (where she immediately remembers she is not wearing underwear). Her hands fumble with small buttons and she pulls at the bottom of the Doctor’s shirt. The blonde pulls back and looks down at her unbuttoned, rumpled shirt, braces and jacket still on her shoulders, keeping her from pulling the shirt off.

“You know you’re going about this a bit backwards, right?”

Yaz pulls her in by the braces just so she can get that cocky smirk off her face, and it works when she shoves her tongue in her mouth and pushes the jacket, braces, and shirt from her shoulders. Hands run over the intricate beads and lace of Yaz’s dress and move down to grip her thighs, lifting her up and pushing her against the window, hard. Yaz lets out a gasp as fabric rubs over her exposed center, dripping wet by now and probably leaving a spot on her dress, but she could not actually care less. Really the only thing she can care about is that they’re fucking against a window where (theoretically) anyone can see them, and that the Doctor has an _amazing_ mouth, like truly superb.

The Doctor rocks her hips forward slightly and Yaz’s legs move to wrap around and hook at the ankles. The Doctor chuckles into her neck at the embarrassingly loud moan Yaz makes into her mouth as she continues to grind against her. Yaz holds tight to bare shoulders as she lets the Doctor run her tongue over the exposed skin of her collar bones and neck.

The Doctor slaps one of her thighs lightly and Yaz lets it fall to the floor. The blonde pulls away to find the bottom of the dress and slide her hand underneath, fabric bunching around her wrist. Her hand runs slowly over smooth skin and finally ( _finally_ ) Yaz feels fingertips brush against her, and if she was embarrassed about the last loud moan than this one would border on shame. The Doctor smirks cockily against her lips and Yaz grunts out, “Don’t even.”

“No underwear, Miss Khan?” The blonde whispers and swipes one finger through her wet folds.

Yaz rolls her eyes — or they roll back in her head at the pressure applied to her clit — and breathes out, “Didn’t have time to find a proper pair.” The excuse means nothing to either of them as the Doctor slowly spreads around the wetness with sure fingers, like she has definitely done this before. The blonde applies pressure to her clit and Yaz’s head tilts back to hit the window with a dull thud.

The Doctor grimaces and asks, “Are you okay?”

Yaz furrows her brows because…that’s not something you ask someone you’re just going to shag and leave. That’s like, a caring question or something, and Yaz isn’t like well versed in how hookups are supposed to go but she’s pretty sure caring about if your partner hit their head a bit while you finger them against the wall isn’t it. She says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The Doctor frowns and pulls away and before Yaz can ask what’s wrong, she’s being led out of the living room and towards the end of the suite where the Doctor opens a door to the actual biggest bedroom Yaz has ever seen, in her life, ever. She doesn’t drop Yaz’s hand until they’re standing in front of the bed and then she just drops to her knees in front of her.

Yaz almost can’t breathe, literally. The Doctor’s eyes are big and pale in the muted light of the bedroom and Yaz can feel her core throbbing at the look of pure _want_ on her face, and then she reaches forward and starts removing Yaz’s shoes carefully. She’s almost disappointed (thinking she was going to be eaten within an inch of her life) until the blonde stands back up and slowly unclasps the dress, pulling the zipper down. It feels like it takes hours, years, for the Doctor to finish with the zipper and let the fabric pool at their feet. She doesn’t leave Yaz in just her bra long before she’s unclasping the back and taking two large handfuls in front of her, squeezing hard nipples between fingers. Her mouth hangs open as she practically ogles at the two small pieces of metal between fingers and she looks up at Yaz.

“You have your nipples pierced?”

Yaz looks down to the Doctor’s hands on her chest and says, “Uh, yeah, looks like it.”

The look in her eyes is bordering on feral and Yaz can _feel_ her body react to it as she’s pushed down onto the bed. She watches as the Doctor runs her hands up and down toned legs already spread for her and licks her lips, placing soft kisses on the inside of her thighs. Yaz’s hand reaches down to tangle in impossibly soft blonde hair, letting the blonde move at her own pace. She gasps as she feels hot breath over her cunt and almost lifts her hips to chase the soft lips that just barely come close to touching where she absolutely needs them most.

The Doctor starts on the other thigh and Yaz could probably scream if she wasn’t so _fucking horny._ Seriously, it should be illegal to have a woman this attractive between your legs and not making you come, especially when she keeps direct eye contact the entire time (and eye contact isn’t like necessary for Yaz, she’s always found it a bit weird with other people, but from the Doctor it is so hot that she might come just from her look).

Her lips ghost over wet flesh and Yaz grips her hair harder than ever. “If you keep stopping I _swear_ ,” she threatens, voice only shaking a little bit.

The Doctor grins up at her and Yaz sees the first peek of her pink tongue flicking out and swiping lightly up her clit, and then her eyes close and her head falls back as the Doctor takes another long swipe with the flat of her tongue. Yaz’s hips rock up and a strong arm wraps around to hold them down as she sucks hard on her clit.

And then Yaz can’t remember why she was ever frustrated with this woman as she wholeheartedly eats her out, almost enthusiastically if Yaz has to say. Her tongue circles her clit and flicks hard with the tip until Yaz is shaking and ready to cum, and Yaz says that, through a long moan and a rock of her hips, and the Doctor pulls her mouth back.

Yaz almost strangles her but then hot flesh is lapping at her entrance and she can’t bring herself to care again. The blonde shoves her tongue in as far as it will go and Yaz thinks she might cum just from that, and then she looks down and catches the Doctor’s hazel eyes blown dark and staring at her, watching every expression that crosses Yaz’s face. She _does_ cum from that and it takes them both by surprise so much so that she’s already coming down by the time the Doctor moves back up to suck at her clit.

She pulls away, face shining and wet and asks, “Are you finished?”

It’s not a mean question, it’s genuine and Yaz thinks she might just marry this woman (if she wasn’t her mothers old friend and also like twice her age, at least). “Not in the slightest,” she says, chest heaving.

The Doctor grins up at her. “Good, cause neither am I,” she says and latches her mouth back on the clit in front of her. Yaz watches her give long slow licks that do nothing but make her walls clench and frustrate her a bit. A tongue flicks across the sensitive bud and what Yaz doesn’t see is the hand making it’s way up until a finger pushes at her entrance and she almost lets out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“Please, just get on with it,” she urges.

“Patience is a virtue, you’ll learn that with time,” the Doctor says and Yaz rolls her eyes.

“I’ll be patient after you’ve made me cum correctly this time, how about that?” She quips.

The Doctor hums against her and pushes one finger fully in until Yaz feels the brush of a knuckle. She tightens her grip in blonde hair and lifts her hips almost imperceptibly, trying to feel more of a stretch. The Doctor thrusts her hand slowly, adding another finger when Yaz looks at her with pleading eyes, lip caught between her teeth. The stretch makes her moan loud and reach out to grip the bedsheets with her other hand, not wanting to actually pull this woman’s hair out. The Doctor thrusts into her and curls her fingers up, hitting a spot Yaz had only found as she got into her twenties.

Yaz pulls up at blonde hair and the Doctor follows, giving one last hard suck to her clit and crawling up to attach her lips to Yaz’s neck. A hot tongue laps at her pulse point and bites at her jaw and pulls away, stopping her movements. Yaz opens her eyes to find the blonde looking at her seriously, arm flexing from where she holds herself above Yaz.

She looks like she’s searching for something on Yaz’s face when she asks, “Can I kiss you, Yasmin?”

The question really takes her by surprise — thirty seconds ago she was being fucked into oblivion and now she’s asking if she can _kiss_ her? She reaches up to cup the back of the blonde’s neck, nails scratching lightly. “Of course,” she says.

The Doctor leans down and brushes their lips together and Yaz really can’t help the soft sigh that escapes her when a hot tongue swipes at her bottom lip. She’s pretty sure she’s the one that finally closes the distance, but she can’t be certain and it doesn’t really matter much when the Doctor bites down on her bottom lip and starts up the thrusting again. Her hips move with her hand and it’s probably the most erotic thing Yaz has ever experienced, and she never wants it to end.

She leaves deep red scratches down the Doctor’s back — earning her a hard bite on the top of her breast that is definitely going to bruise — and she almost can’t tell when she’s going to cum until it’s too late. She grips hard at the Doctor’s moving hips and cups her cheek in one hand and moans loud.

“Doctor, I’m close,” she breathes. The Doctor pulls her face back but doesn’t stop any of her movements and Yaz realizes she wants to _see_ her come, and that thought alone has her reaching the peak and soaring past. Her mind goes blank as she shakily rocks her hips into the hard movements and the moan she lets out is fully pornographic, loud and breathy and with direct eye contact held until she genuinely can’t hold her eyes open anymore.

Waves of pleasure rock through her body as she clutches at strong shoulders and she clenches hard around three fingers buried deep still, unmoving. She leans up and presses her lips to the Doctor’s (as a thank you?), then falls back down on the bed. She taps the woman’s wrist and she finally pulls out.

Yaz looks over just in time to see her raise the wet hand to her mouth and take each individual digit in, letting them go with a soft pop of her lips. She raises an eyebrow at Yaz’s shocked look and asks, “What, have you really never had anyone do that?”

“You still have your pants on,” Yaz notes, ignoring her completely and letting her eyes trace down a toned stomach to navy blue trousers, with an obvious wet spot most definitely from Yaz.

The Doctor flaps a hand in front of her and lays on her back next to Yaz. “Not worried about them.”

Yaz sits up and leans on her elbow, regarding the woman currently moving her wrist in a circle (she understands). “You don’t want to cum?” she asks.

The blonde looks at her and shrugs. “I’m not too worried about it, really. I’d love to, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re too tired you don’t have to.”

Yaz really can’t believe the words coming out of this woman’s mouth. _If she’s too tired_? What, does she think she’s just going to give Yaz one of the best orgasms of her life and then Yaz is just gonna leave without reciprocating? What the hell?

The question is out before she can help herself (and she blames the alcohol and recent orgasm). “Is that how these things usually work for you?”

The Doctor narrows her eyes. “What makes you think I do this often?”

Yaz laughs. “You seemed pretty experienced at the time, but maybe you’re just a quick learner.” And since the feeling has now come back to her legs, she sits up and throws one over the Doctor’s hips, hand coming down to lay flat against her tense stomach.

“Quick learner, definitely, but I do dabble,” she says against Yaz’s lips. Her hands slide up her sides and cup soft flesh. Fingers twist dark nipples and pull at shiny metal and Yaz can’t help the way she rolls her head back when the Doctor places open mouthed kisses against her chest. Yaz indulges for a few seconds more before pulling herself out of reach.

“Stop that,” she warns. “It’s your turn.”

The Doctor raises her hands in defense and Yaz leans back down to suck hard at her pulse point. A musky cologne wafts from her neck and Yaz can’t help the way her tongue darts out to lick up the column of her throat. The Doctor moans all breathy and reaches down to grab at Yaz’s ass, pulling her closer. Her uncovered center touches the front of the Doctor’s trousers and Yaz almost rocks her hips forward, almost just says fuck it and makes herself cum again by dry humping this woman, but she refrains, and instead her hands slide down twitching muscles to undo the belt buckle and pull down the zipper of her trousers.

She swipes one finger over wet fabric and smirks against the Doctor’s lips, cocky. She’s proud of herself, alright? A woman as beautiful as this one is wet (read: soaked) because she’s turned on by _Yaz._ If she’d wanted to feel wanted, then here’s her proof.

“Don’t,” the Doctor growls and bites at her bottom lip. It would sound scary and threatening if Yaz didn’t decide that’s the perfect time to dig the heel of her hand against wet fabric, causing the Doctor to clench her teeth together as a groan escapes through. Her hips jump up underneath Yaz and she looks up at her with blown pupils, eyes dark and fogged over with need.

Yaz moves down the bed and grips both sides of the trousers, pulling them over her thighs and discarding them on the floor (somewhere, she has no idea where). She’s about to reach up for the Doctor’s boxers when she finally takes a good look at them and laughs, sitting back on her heels. “Are those weiner dogs?”

The Doctor leans up on her elbows and looks down at herself, then back at Yaz. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, wasn’t expecting this.” Her cheeks tint pink from the flush that spreads on her chest.

Yaz pulls the stretchy fabric down her thighs and discards them somewhere behind her (again, she has no idea where, and she doesn’t actually care). She doesn’t take time in teasing — she’s not sure either of them can handle that — and instead pulls creamy white thighs apart and attaches her lips to her clit before the Doctor can even get her hand tangled in Yaz’s hair. She’s musky and sweet and Yaz can’t remember ever tasting anything better.

She moans, loud, and it’s probably the best sound Yaz has ever heard in her entire life, and she never wants to hear another sound that isn’t that sound. The Doctor rolls her hips, chasing the feel of Yaz’s mouth, and Yaz lets her. Lets her hold the back of her head firm in one hand while she gets herself off on Yaz’s mouth, and now definitely, _this_ is the most erotic thing she’s experienced. The Doctor grinds hard against her and grips her hair in one hand, the other one moving to her own breast and rolling a stiff nipple between to fingers, eyes glued to Yaz.

Yaz reaches up and slides one finger in, slowly, a sharp contrast to the Doctor’s shuddering hips, and the rhythm she had found comes to a halt as she now chases the finger pumping in and out of her at a slower pace. Yaz laps happily at the blonde’s clit and keeps her eyes up, not breaking contact. The Doctor runs her hand through dark mussed hair with a soft look on her face and pulls until Yaz raises her head from her cunt. She cups her chin and pulls down on her lower lip with her thumb, then says in the sexiest voice Yaz has ever heard in her entire life, “Yasmin, please fuck me.” It’s not a plea or a command but Yaz finds herself following it all the same.

She sucks hard at her clit again and this time holds down twitching hips with her arm. The Doctor goes back to gripping her hair in one hand, hard enough to draw tears if Yaz didn’t have a high pain tolerance. She adds another finger and flicks at the clit in her mouth with her tongue. The Doctor moans low in her throat and Yaz repeats the action until she feels walls start to flutter around her fingers. She adds another slowly, picking up the pace almost immediately as the Doctor just spreads her legs wider and takes it. It only takes another few swipes at her clit and a slight curling of her fingers as they thrust in and she’s coming around her hand, body going rigid save for the incessant rocking of her hips on Yaz’s fingers. She moans loud, “Oh, _Yaz_ ,” and Yaz has never loved her name more.

She waits until walls stop clenching around her fingers before pulling out, then laps slowly at the sensitive flesh to get every last drop of her. She completely forgets about her fingers when the Doctor tugs hard at her hair and she climbs up her body, straddling one knee and hovering over her. The Doctor combs her fingers through Yaz’s hair and pulls her down to connect their lips. Her tongue darts into Yaz’s mouth and she smirks, cocky. They part with a wet pop and she asks, “Do you want a cuppa?”

Before Yaz can answer, she’s already rolling out from underneath her and searching around the floor for her underwear. She slides them over strong thighs with a snap and leaves the room, assumedly going to make them a cuppa.

Yaz rolls out of the bed and looks around uselessly for a minute, not wanting to put her dress back on but not having anything else to wear. In the end she roots around in the drawers of the dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers and t-shirt (that she should mention features a cat hanging on a tree branch with the words ‘hang in there!’ In elegant script underneath), slipping both on a padding through the large penthouse until she finds the kitchen again. She comes up behind the Doctor and places a soft hand on her hip. The Doctor jumps like she wasn’t expecting Yaz to come, but she turns around and smiles brightly, hooking her arms around her neck. Her brows raise when she takes in Yaz’s attire with a long sweep of her eyes.

“Sorry, I don’t have any pants and I didn’t want to put my dress back on yet. I can go change if you —“

“No, you can keep them. Look way better on you than they ever did on me,” the Doctor says simply, placing a soft kiss to Yaz’s collarbone and turning around to pour the hot water into two sleek white mugs. “Dunno if this tea is any good, hotels always have shite in the kitchens but they usually roll out the red carpet for me, so.”

“Wow, bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

She shrugs, back still to Yaz, and Yaz sees the ripple of her back muscles as she methodically gets two mugs of tea ready for them. “Just what happens when you travel as much as I do.” She turns and hands a mug to Yaz, neither of them taking a step away from their close proximity. Yaz can feel the heat coming off the Doctor and the mug in her hands and it smells like chamomile and sex and she finally takes the mug from the blonde.

She takes a sip and waits for the Doctor to take one of her own before scrunching up her face in disgust. “Yeah, this tea is shite.”

“I’ll be sure to leave a complaint,” the Doctor says cheekily, putting her mug down on the counter next to Yaz’s.

Yaz reaches her hands up and runs her fingers through soft blonde hair, mussed and tangled. “I should be going,” she says, scratching her nails softly on the Doctor’s scalp.

The Doctor melts to the touch, eyes closed and blissful look on her face, and her own arms circle Yaz’s waist and pull her impossibly closer. She places soft kisses on the underside of Yaz’s jaw and around to her pulse point. “You probably should,” she agrees, mumbling against soft skin.

Yaz lets her place kisses on her collar bones and shoulders and then the Doctor’s hands are moving from behind her back to lay flat against her ribs, moving higher with each second. She cups her cheek in one hand and connects their lips, tongue swiping out. The Doctor opens her mouth eagerly and Yaz shoves her tongue forward, the kiss turning messy and hot as Yaz’s soft hand turns hard and moves to the side of her throat, thumb resting over her vocal cords.

The Doctor’s eyes fly open at the hand around her neck and her face flushes a deep red. Her chest heaves as she looks at Yaz, eyes searching, and then she says, “Not tonight, read up on it first. Next time, I promise,” and moves the hand from her neck. She guides it to her pants and Yaz slips her fingers under the elastic. The Doctor drapes her arms on Yaz’s shoulders and lifts one leg for easier access.

She sucks in a breath at the first touch of rough fingers against her heated flesh and Yaz swallows the resulting moan. She swipes her fingers through wet folds and presses hard against her clit. The Doctor grips her hair tight in one hand and uses the other to scratch at the top of Yaz’s spine (which results in an almost involuntary hiss and roll of her hips), then pulls her in so their foreheads are touching while Yaz thrusts two fingers knuckle deep inside of her. The Doctor is rocked up with every thrust and it’s like it pushes out another little breathy moan every time. Yaz lets her moan against her lips and rubs her clit hard with her thumb and the Doctor is scratching at her shoulders now as her own hips rock forward.

She repeats, “Yaz, oh _god,_ Yaz,” until Yaz curls her fingers and brings her to the peak. She rocks hard against Yaz’s hand when she comes and she moans her name the entire time, like it’s the only word in her vocabulary (like a prayer). Yaz presses soft kisses against the open mouth in front of her, the Doctor barely even responding. Her eyes stay closed and eventually her tight hold on Yaz loosens.

Her eyes only open when Yaz lifts her hand to the blonde’s open mouth, and confused eyes look down at the hand just barely touching soft lips, the wetness practically dripping off of it, and she looks back up at Yaz. She wraps her lips around the first finger, sucking hard, bobbing her head slightly as she cleans it with the flat of her tongue. She does the same for the next two fingers and lets the last one go with a pop of her lips.

Yaz looks over her shoulder at the clock on the stove and pulls away. “ _Shit,_ I really should be going.” She presses one last long kiss to the Doctor’s lips, tasting the Doctor on her lips and wishing she could stay. When they part she turns and goes back into the bedroom, slipping her dress back on and leaving the t-shirt on the bed. She regretfully puts the heels back on (no choice) and walks back into the entry way for the lift. The Doctor stands there with her clutch and phone in her hands and Yaz thanks her when she takes them.

The Doctor smooths down her hair with her hands and pulls back, saying, “Not great, but better. Say you were in a fight.”

Yaz turns to the mirror and almost laughs out loud. Her hair looks like she took a comb to it and teased it like it was the 80s. She rakes her fingers through it roughly and gets it to a more manageable level, at least enough so she doesn’t look completely like she’s taking the walk of shame.

When she’s finished she turns back to the Doctor only to be pushed up against the small table in front of the mirror. The blonde touches her sides and her breasts and her collar bones and her neck and when she pulls away she grins and says, “Lets do this again, yeah?”

Yaz rolls her eyes but agrees. “Yeah. Sometime.” And she’s not even thinking about how much of a _mistake_ it probably was, because really she can’t bring herself to even care about that (not after the mind shattering orgasms she had). She places one last kiss against the Doctor’s lips and takes the lift down to the lobby. A sleek black car waits for her and she tells the driver her address.

She wakes her mum when she gets home to let her know she’s back safe and ends up back in her own room, laying on her bed in just the Doctor’s boxers and tracing her fingers over the large bite mark above her left breast.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another day another hookup between our two favorite gays + also fancy dinner!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. here we are. I’m like 10% less ashamed but that will probably change. hope my sister doesn’t find this fic since I just introduced her to ao3. also there Might be a part 3 but im still thinking lemme know if you’d be interested. bye.
> 
> written to: favorite t-shirt (acoustic) by jake scott

She should probably regret it more. She _knows_ she should regret it more. And yet more than once in the next month she finds her fingers rubbing tight circles on her clit while she holds back a moan with her hand against her mouth and imagines blonde hair, strong arms and a quick tongue. She cums fast every time she imagines the Doctor holding her head in place while she grinds against her mouth, using her for her own pleasure.

When the regret and shame she should feel goes on long enough, she tells Ryan. Not _everything_ , or details, but she does admit it’s the best shag she’s had in years.

Ryan blows hair out his nose and says, “TARDIS, isn’t that the billion dollar tech company?” He pops a chip into his mouth and says, “Good job, Yaz. I’m right proud, honestly.”

She throws a chip at him and he’s a second too slow at swatting it away before it bounces off his forehead.

It’s not until she cleans her room two weeks later that she finds the slip of hotel paper in her clutch, a string of numbers across the top and “call me” in messy scrawl underneath. She texts the number immediately.

_Didn’t see your number in my clutch. Cheeky_ , she sends.

The reply comes later that night at dinner and she flips her phone over on the table so her family can’t see the notification. She sits through dinner and does the dishes with Sonya afterwards, the phone practically burning a hole in her pocket, and she whips it out as soon as she gets back in her own bedroom.

_Yasmin Khan, thought you forgot about me._

Yaz doesn’t know how to reply but her phone buzzes a second later with another message.

_Would you like to go for dinner? I’ll be in town soon._

She doesn’t even need to think about the response, her fingers already typing. _Of course._

She ends up telling her parents she’s staying at a mates to watch the game and sneaks out unseen. A sleek black car picks her up down the street and out of sight of her flat and she’s sort of surprised to see the Doctor in the car when the driver opens the door for her.

“Hiya, Yaz! Y’look lovely. Are you ready?” She grins.

Yaz climbs in next to her. “All set,” she says.

The driver starts off and the Doctor asks, “So how’ve you been? How’s ya mum? How’s Sonya?”

Yaz can’t help the smile that threatens to take over at the series of questions, all asked with genuine care and excitement. “Mum’s good, working a lot but that’s normal, as you probably know. Sonya’s good too, she keeps bugging me for Ryan’s number, though. I do _not_ want to be the one that sets them up.”

The Doctor furrows her brow like she’s trying to recall memories. “Ryan…is that the boy who used to make you eat things? I think it was a cat treat last time, right?” She asks.

Yaz laughs, hand instinctively reaching out and clutching the Doctor’s. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you even remember that. Yes, that Ryan.”

“What’s he up to? I remember him as a small lad, a bit clumsy but never let that stop him.”

“Got his degree, works in a mechanics shop now. I make him fix my car when it starts makin’ noise.” And she doesn’t really know why she feels the need to say the next part, to even clarify, but she says, “He’s a good friend.” When she looks over at the Doctor, their faces are a lot closer than she’d thought ( _and when did that even happen_ ).

“Sounds like it,” the Doctor says, voice almost a whisper as she gazes at Yaz. And then it’s really, really quiet in the back of the cab and Yaz is very aware of the driver in the front seat and the Doctor beside her looking at Yaz like she wants to fuck her in the back of this car, driver be dammed.

“Thanks for taking me out to dinner,” Yaz says when she can’t think of anything else to say (come on, she’s only a (very gay) woman, she has weaknesses).

“No problem,” the Doctor replies, voice low and eyes darting down to Yaz’s red lips. “Shame you got lipstick on. Wouldn’t want to ruin it before dinner.”

Yaz raises a brow, smirk playing on her lips. “What, you think I’m comin’ to bed with you?”

The Doctor grins. “That’s not the only time you’ll come.” She sounds quite chuffed with herself for the fast quip.

The response makes Yaz roll her eyes. “Cheeky,” she says, then adds, “Good thing my lipstick is smear-proof.”

The grin drops from the Doctor’s face and she breathes out, “Oh thank god,” before darting forward and crushing their lips together harshly. Every thought about the driver or people seeing them making out in a car leave her mind when the Doctor brings a hand up to cup her jaw and runs a tongue across her bottom lip. Yaz stops the moan in her throat before it escapes her mouth and the blonde smirks against her lips. Yaz parts her lips and the Doctor’s tongue pushes forward, and then they’re full on making out in the back of a really expensive car. Yaz almost doesn’t notice when they come to a stop until the driver clears his throat loudly, pointedly _not_ looking in the rear view mirror.

“Doctor, Miss Khan, we’ve arrived,” he says and Yaz can tell he’s most likely had a lot of training (and hands on experience) at not making it awkward, and then she feels really bad for this man and how much he’s probably had to see.

The Doctor doesn’t look like she has an ounce of shame in her entire body when she parts from Yaz and licks her lips. She says, “Wow, they did a good job with that lipstick. Didn’t smear one bit.”

The restaurant is nice, like fancy. Like she feels like she should be in a ballgown or something, and not the fitted red trousers and sleeveless black shirt she now wears (which are nice clothes, but not this level of nice). She hooks her arm through the Doctor’s elbow and lets herself be led into the restaurant, the two doormen opening the doors for them.

They wait all of three seconds before a man walks up and says, “Doctor, pleasure to have you back. Your usual table is right this way.” He leads them through the tables and towards a booth in the back. The Doctor lets Yaz sit first then takes a seat next to her, not on the bench across from her like a normal person would’ve.

The gesture only makes her smile when she looks over at the Doctor, warm body pressed to her side. “Hi,” she says dumbly, still a bit flushed from the quick snog in the car (and how ridiculously horny it had left her).

“Hi,” the Doctor replies, small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes dart down to Yaz’s mouth and Yaz almost thinks she’s going to kiss her until she says, “This place has _the best_ chicken fingers.”

The waiter takes their orders and Yaz eventually turns on the booth to face the Doctor, arm up on the back of the booth and just watching the blonde talk. She talks a lot — like, _a lot_ — but Yaz is content to just watch her as she animatedly describes the time she got chased by two ducks into a pond and the golf course employees had to fish her out because she cannot swim.

“You can’t swim?” Yaz asks with a bit of disbelief in her voice.

The Doctor shakes her head and takes a sip of the cocktail in front of her (some fruity concoction that Yaz wouldn’t even be able to stomach with the amount of sugar in it). “Never learned. Wasn’t a lot of big open rivers where I grew up.”

“Where is that? Your home, I mean.”

The Doctor waves toff the question like she’s trying to be nonchalant but Yaz can feel the tense of her thigh and see the clench of her jaw as she studies the dessert menu. “Here and there. Moved around a lot as a kid. I think this is the place that has the chocolate lava cakes, do you want one?” And then she’s on a tangent about different types of lava cake and which restaurants have the best ones (and most of the restaurant names found fancy and French and like the kind of place Yaz could never afford).

Yaz tells her about chasing a drunk man through the park last week and the Doctor tells her about the time she broke into a bank (legally) and got caught up in an employee birthday party celebration, having to pretend to be an employee and like she wasn’t carrying a backpack full of gold bars. Yaz shows her more pictures of her cat and is reminded of their first conversation and what came next (a bit later) and she feels the wave of arousal wash over her body like it had been waiting the entire night for her to acknowledge it.

Eventually, after the Doctor puts her hand high up on her thigh without even noticing, just going about the conversation, Yaz puts her spoon down and says, “I’m ready to leave now.” The Doctor looks really, genuinely shocked (and hurt) and Yaz thinks back over her words and starts, eyebrows shooting up. “No! No, I meant I want to leave _with you_.” She looks down at the Doctor’s hand still resting high up on her thigh, then back up to the blonde. “ _Now_.”

The Doctor raises her other hand in the air and the waiter appears as if by magic, setting the bill down on the table. The Doctor breaks eye contact once to sign the check and the waiter appears again and carries it off. They don’t touch in the car, the air too charged to even think about it. Yaz is pretty sure if she kissed the Doctor she’d also end up getting fingered in the back of this car, and she really didn’t want to put the driver through that.

She supposes it must look odd to the driver — whose name she learns is Michael — how they were making out on the drive to the restaurant and now they’re just sitting side by side, not even touching. The Doctor taps her fingers on her knee and traces the top of Yaz’s hand with the other. Her fingertips are light on her knuckles as she traces each one. She outlines her hand and then touches each of her nails, and the whole thing is so methodical and soft that Yaz feels a slight ache behind her ribs (because no, she is _not_ going to develop a crush on this woman).

Yaz opens the door of the car before the driver can and jumps out, not dropping the Doctor’s hand as she leads them to the now familiar penthouse. When the lift starts up she asks, “Do you always stay at this hotel?”

“Mostly. It’s a nice one, I think. And close to business.”

Yaz raises an eyebrow. “Am I business?”

The Doctor takes a step closer and towers over her, her heels much taller than the ones Yaz wears. “Definitely not.”

Yaz doesn’t realize until that very moment that she likes the Doctor taking control sometimes, and the realization sends a shiver through her body. She breathes out, “Good.” and the spark in the Doctor’s eyes tell her she definitely saw the reaction that one act of command did. The lift doors open into the penthouse. The Doctor doesn’t lead her to the living room or the kitchen — and thank god because Yaz might’ve actually hit her if she had offered wine and a nice chat.

The Doctor enters the bedroom first and Yaz shuts the door behind them. When she turns around she’s pushed roughly against said door with a knee sliding between her thighs and the Doctor’s face a hair’s width away, looking right into her eyes.

“Hi,” she whispers, practically against Yaz’s lips.

“Hi yourself,” Yaz says. She doesn’t grind her hips forward, no matter how much she wants to.

Like she read her mind, the Doctor says, “You can move your hips, Yasmin.”

And that’s apparently all the confirmation her body needs as her hips twitch forward on their own command and she feels the fabric of her pants rub over her wet center. At the first proper roll of her hips she lets her head fall back against the door and the Doctor takes that as her opportunity to leave open mouthed kisses on her collar bone (and maybe Yaz lets out a moan every time teeth graze skin, who knows). She grips the back of the Doctor’s neck and pulls her closer by her braces as she gets herself off on her thigh, and it’s that thought along with the harsh bite to her shoulder that has her shuddering against the body pressed against her. She grips the Doctor around the shoulders and crashes their lips together as she comes, hips rolling with a spastic rhythm.

When Yaz finally comes back to her body she kisses the underside of the Doctor’s jaw softly and runs a hand through her short hair. The Doctor drops her knee and steps back, running a hand over her rumpled jacket before starting to unbutton the front.

Yaz starts, her hand shooting out to the Doctor’s wrist. “I think that’s sort of my job, y’know.” Her eyes dart down the fitted grey suit the Doctor wears.

The Doctor lifts her chin and raises an eyebrow, hands dropping away to her sides, and Yaz feels a wave of excitement wash through her. “Then get a shift on.”

Yaz steps forward and pushes the jacket off her shoulders, neatly folding it in half and hanging it over the desk chair. She runs her hands up the sides of her ribs, over the crisp white shirt, and grips the black braces in both hands, pulling them to the side and letting them fall. She looks up as she slowly unbuttons the shirt and slides that over soft shoulders as well, then folds it in half and hangs it over the jacket.

The look on the Doctor’s face when she drops to her knees is practically feral and she takes the Doctor’s shoe when she lifts her leg. She puts the set of heels to the side and lets her eyes drag down soft skin to the front of her trousers. The Doctor slides a hand through her hair and scratches lightly on the back of her neck and Yaz practically melts into the touch, her eyes closing for a brief few seconds before the nails turn harsh and grip her hair.

She gets the hint and starts unbuttoning the trousers in front of her, the nails going back to their soft scratching against her scalp. They slide down strong thighs and pool at the floor. The Doctor steps out of them and Yaz folds them as she stands, laying them on the desk. When she turns back around the Doctor already has her underwear and bra off and is reaching for Yaz’s shirt, apparently unable to help herself. She pulls the blouse and undershirt off and unhooks the bra with one skilled hand, pulling it away and throwing it somewhere to the side. Her lips graze soft flesh and her tongue flicks out to circle a hard nipple. Yaz lets out a soft sigh as the Doctor sucks a nipple into her mouth and kneads the other breast with her hand, groping the flesh in time with her teeth that tug on metal. She switches breasts and Yaz runs a hand through her hair, settling on the back of her head.

“These are brilliant,” the Doctor mumbles against her skin.

“What, my breasts?” Yaz teases, knowing she’s most definitely talking about the small metal barbells she’s sucking on.

The Doctor lets a pierced nipple go from her mouth with a pop. “Both, I suppose.”

Hands slide to the front of her slacks and unbutton them swiftly, pushing both her trousers and underwear down her legs without preamble. Yaz kicks them hurriedly to the side and the Doctor latches their lips back together as her hands run over every inch of available skin. She roughly grips her ass and Yaz thinks she might just take her against the wall again when the Doctor pulls back slightly.

“Have you ever used a strap on?” She asks.

Yaz feels her mouth open and close like a fish as she searches her mind for something to say, because the only think she can actually think of now is the Doctor fucking her from behind and _that_ particular thought makes her clit throb, hard. “You mean worn or?”

The blonde shrugs. “Either, or.”

“Received, never worn.”

At that the blonde raises a brow, predatory look on her face. “Do you have a preference?” she asks.

“Either, or,” Yaz repeats back.

The blonde pulls away and leads her to the bed, pushing her down. “Don’t move,” she says sternly. Yaz sits up on her elbows and watches her rummage through a drawer on the dresser and pull out a piece of silicone thats…blue. The dildo hanging from the harness is bright blue with what looks like _glitter_ mixed in the silicone, a gaudy thing honestly. The Doctor makes quick work of adjusting the straps of the harness around her hips and walks over to the nightstand, pulling out a small bottle of lube.

She stands at the end of the bed and strokes a lubed hand slowly up and down the shaft and Yaz can’t take her eyes off of it. It’s thick and long and eight inches at least, and she genuinely can’t remember a time when she was this turned on. She looks back up to the blonde’s eyes to find them watching her like a hawk, hazel clouded over with lust.

The Doctor leans on the bed and kisses her softly, noses bumping. “Roll over,” she whispers against red lips, pulling back and out of reach.

Yaz is moving before she even registers the words. A thrill shoots through her body as the Doctor pushes a pillow under her hips after pulling her closer to the edge of the bed. Yaz cranes her head around to see as much as she can but she completely misses the Doctor moving forward until the tip of the fake cock rubs over her clit, moving to rest against her entrance. The Doctor places a warm palm against the small of her back and asks, “Ready?”

“Never been more ready,” Yaz says impatiently.

The Doctor gives no preamble as she pushes the tip inside and Yaz lets out a satisfied (and loud) moan, hands reaching out to grip at the expensive sheets. The fill and stretch from the cock makes her walls quiver around the firm silicone as the Doctor slips in inch by inch, going much slower than is probably needed considering how wet and ready Yaz was to begin with. When she bottoms out she stops and leans forward, bracing herself on the bed above Yaz with both hands. She leaves soft kisses at the top of Yaz’s spine until her back relaxes and Yaz says, “Please keep going, Doctor. I don’t think I’ll last long.”

That’s apparently the magic words because the Doctor pulls out halfway and rolls her hips forward. The delicious stretch and nudge against her walls when the Doctor grinds down makes Yaz bury her face in the mattress and moan loud, sound muffled. A hand reaches out to grip her hair and pulls her head back.

“I want to hear you, love,” the Doctor practically growls against her neck, leaving a small bite.

Yaz nods and the Doctor lets go of her hair, smoothing it over. She repeats the motions — thrust, roll, grind — until Yaz is properly begging, hands clutching the sheets with white knuckles and lifting her hips with every trust, wanting (needing) deeper, harder, faster, _more_. The steady pace only serves to stoke the raging fire that’s settled deep in her gut. She groans helplessly when the Doctor repositions herself and the toy rubs _that spot_ every time she pulls out, and before long Yaz is starting to shake and she grips the sheets and says through grit teeth, “Doctor, I’m gonna come —“

The murderous look she gives the Doctor when she pulls out at Yaz’s words is truly a good one, and her mother would be proud (well, like, if the situation causing the look was _any_ different, because she _is_ still being fucked by her mother’s close friend and boss).

“Roll over,” the blonde says, stepping back so Yaz can reposition herself. Yaz does so fast (almost eagerly) and barely a second later the Doctor climbs onto the bed and settles between her thighs, tapping the hard silicone against her throbbing clit.

“Please, Doctor.” She isn’t begging yet, just gently encouraging, and they both know it (and they both know the Doctor is going to make her beg for it anyway, and that she will).

The Doctor lines the tip up and pushes in slowly. Yaz’s back arches off the bed and she groans loud, the toy now giving her a different sort of fill than before. She cups the back of the Doctor’s neck and rests their foreheads together, wrapping her legs around the blonde’s waist. When she picks up the pace the headboard slams against the wall, accompanied by a pathetic moan that escapes Yaz’s lips with every good roll of hips against her clit.

She’s brought back to the peak quickly, the ball of want in her stomach coiled so tight she isn’t sure she can hold out any longer, and mumbles against soft lips, “I’m gonna come.” Because even she knows whatever weird power play they’re doing right now means she would be severely punished if she let herself come without permission, and that thought alone sends a jolt to her clit and has her clenching hard around the toy. “Please,” she says.

The Doctor slows a bit and pulls back, watching her face. “Beg for it.”

Yaz almost wants to roll her eyes at the predictability of it but she genuinely can’t do that, physically, and if she doesn’t cum in the next few seconds she’s going to actually die — and that part of her brain is nudging her to just do it, just beg, while the other side of her brain says to never give up her position or power, and begging would be giving up. And then the Doctor rolls her hips hard against her clit and the words that come out of her mouth are not her own, fueled only by her want.

“ _Please_ , let me come. I need you — it so badly. Please, Doctor, please.” She looks into hazel eyes when she says it and the thrumming in her veins and tight coil in her stomach covers up the slight ache behind her ribs at her faux pas.

The Doctor kisses her deeply once more then licks at her earlobe. “Come for me, Yasmin,” she husks against her ear and pulls back to watch Yaz come apart underneath her.

Always one to follow orders, her body stiffens and her hips buck up into the hard trusts. She keeps eye contact as her walls flutter around the toy and her nails scratch hard at the Doctor’s back. The wave of pleasure that comes hits her like a fucking train and her mouth falls open in a loud moan. The Doctor’s intense gaze spurs her on to the next (albeit smaller) orgasm and this time she leans forward and swallows Yaz’s moans as her hips slow their thrusts, bringing her down from her high.

She doesn’t pull out for a long while, Yaz’s legs stay wrapped around her hips and body slack underneath her. Her pulse thrums under the Doctor’s lips as she leaves soft kisses over tan skin. When she does pull out it’s with a sigh pulled from Yaz’s lips and she tosses it to the other side of the bed, then drops herself down next to Yaz. Yaz rolls to the side and kisses the Doctor’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around her bare waist.

“Good, then?” she asks.

Yaz hums contentedly, eyes closed. “It’ll do.” She opens one eye to see the Doctor looking at her, offended. She laughs and leans up to kiss at the frown on her face. “I’m just joking. It was wonderful.”

She lets herself get lost kissing the Doctor (who is a remarkable kisser, by the way), swiping her tongue across her bottom lip and biting down. The Doctor sucks in a breath and reaches up to roll a breast in her firm hand. Yaz drops her hand between pale thighs and swipes two fingers through her folds. The Doctor bucks into her hand and Yaz swallows the surprised noise right from her lips. Her fingers come away very wet and she lifts them to her mouth, licking them clean while staring into hazel eyes.

She lowers her hand again and lets the Doctor shove her tongue into her mouth while she makes slow, sure swipes against her clit. When Yaz’s finger dips too close to her entrance the Doctor lets out a moan. Yaz circles her entrance and dips a fingertip in, just enough to get her attention, and the Doctor’s eyes fly open. The look on her face is pure want, like she would do absolutely anything to come, and Yaz thinks this is probably her favorite way to have the Doctor — horny and wanting.

“What do you want, Doctor?”

The response is immediate. “You,” she says and flushes pink. “In me,” she clarifies, then adds, “You can use the toy if you want, I have cleaner.”

Yaz leans forward and presses her lips and tongue and teeth against her pulse point, moving down her neck and sucking a hard nipple into her mouth. “Noted,” she mumbles against hot skin and kisses the underside of the Doctor’s right breast. She moves to the left and flicks her tongue over her nipple, biting down lightly. The Doctor hisses and her hand slides from the back of Yaz’s neck to tangle in her hair, gripping hard.

Yaz trails kisses down her abdomen and down the inside of her thighs. By the time she gets between her legs properly the Doctor is about ready to kill her (probably) and her chest heaves with each shaky breath. Yaz looks her directly in the eyes as she takes the first long swipe with her tongue and the noise the Doctor lets out is delicious. She repeats the action and flicks her clit with the tip of her tongue and the grip in her hair tightens ever so slightly. The finger at her entrance dips in again as Yaz’s lips attach to her clit and suck. The Doctor moans low in her throat and Yaz flicks up with her tongue and slowly slides the entire finger in with much ease, her knuckles brushing against wet skin.

The Doctor says, “Yaz, you know that’s not enough.”

Yaz smiles against her and mumbles, “Yeah, I know.”

The Doctor’s hips rock up to meet her mouth as she licks the flat of her tongue up and pulls her finger slowly out. She pushes in and curls up just slightly and the Doctor’s grip in her hair tightens. She bites her bottom lip between two teeth. “Please, Yaz.”

And definitely not because the Doctor has a breathy whine in her voice that makes Yaz want to make her come immediately, Yaz pulls her fingers out, giving one last long swipe of her tongue before pulling away completely.

“Where’s the cleaner?” She grabs the toy from the floor and wipes it on a towel hanging off the couch. The Doctor wordlessly points to the nightstand drawer and Yaz finds the bottle easily, pouring a bit on the toy and rubbing it in. When it dries she slips the harness on and adjusts the straps while she walks over to the bed.

The Doctor looks up when she approaches and her jaw drops. She moves up to her elbows and watches as Yaz strokes lube onto the shaft, wiping her hand on the sheets when she’s done. She crawls up to the Doctor and uses one hand to guide the tip to her entrance, barely applying pressure.

“Ready?” She asks, face serious.

The Doctor nods quickly. “Please.”

Yaz barely pushes her hips forward and the Doctor is taking the head of the toy, then slowly the rest, inch by inch. Yaz watches with rapt attention as each centimeter of the toy disappears and the Doctor arches her back when she bottoms out.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the Doctor breathes as she looks down at the point where their hips meet. Yaz agrees and pulls out half way before thrusting back in. The Doctor’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she moans loud as Yaz gradually picks up the pace. Yaz’s fingers twist hard nipples between them and slowly her hand makes its way up the blonde’s chest and to the side of her neck. She runs her thumb over the hollow bottom of her throat and hazel eyes snap open. The lust filling them is almost an answer in and of itself, but Yaz still voices the question, hips stilling a bit.

“Yes or no?”

The Doctor’s blown eyes stare into hers and she says, “Yes, please,” and her voice is low, practically a growl, but with more of a whine.

Yaz readjusts her hand to be able to grip either side of her neck and starts up the relentless pace she had set. Her hand flexes just slightly, pulse beating hard underneath fingertips, and the Doctor’s mouth falls open, a small noise escaping her throat. Blonde hair turned almost gold in the soft glow of the hotel lamps lay in a messy circle around her head and Yaz wants to take a picture, save a snapshot from her brain of this exact second where the Doctor breathes out little gasps of pleasure as Yaz ruts into her and starts to apply pressure with her fingers. She doesn’t squeeze hard or for long but when she relaxes her hand the Doctor breathes deep and her hips cant up sporadically.

The look on her face is desperate and wanting and complete submission and it sort of makes Yaz’s head spin a bit, truthfully. Yaz leans down and connects their lips — or well, shoves her tongue into the Doctor’s mouth while the blonde reacts seconds later, reflexes dulled, apparently. When she pulls away she squeezes her fingers around her throat and the Doctor’s moan falls right onto Yaz’s lips.

She holds on two seconds longer than the last time and the Doctor sucks in a shaky breath when she relaxes her hand. Her chest heaves like she’s been running a marathon. The only sound in the room is the wet noises from the toy, the slap of skin against skin, and the Doctor’s breathy little moans when Yaz thrusts all the way in. She bites her bottom lip between two teeth and gazes up at Yaz like she literally hung the stars in the sky for her.

“I’m gonna — _Yaz,_ I’m gonna come. _God —_ “ her words are cut off when Yaz tightens her grip and then the Doctor is coming hard around the toy, her hips bucking up wildly and clutching at her shoulders. Yaz doesn’t hold on long — a few seconds at most — and when she lets go the Doctor lets out a raspy moan and pulls her down to crash their lips together. The blonde shudders underneath her and her other hand moves from Yaz’s wrist to grip at her hips, her ass, pulling her closer and deeper. Yaz slows the harsh pace but doesn’t stop completely and the Doctor sighs contentedly into her mouth as she pushes back in, slow as molasses.

She pulls out and places soft kisses against pale skin, against her temples and her cheeks and underneath her ear and over the freckle on her neck and across sharp collar bones. The Doctor’s hand runs through her hair and pulls her up to connect their lips lazily.

“Thank you,” the Doctor says against Yaz mouth, sounding thoroughly fucked.

Yaz chuckles and leaves two more quick kisses on her lips before pulling back. “Any time.” She unstraps the harness and reaches over to put it on the nightstand.

When she turns back the Doctor smiles up at her dreamily. “Would you like a cuppa?” she practically whispers in the quiet of the room.

Yaz can’t help the smile that comes to her face. “I’d love one, thanks.”

The Doctor presses a few chaste kisses to her mouth before jumping out of bed and padding naked to the dresser. Yaz watches openly as she bends over and rummages through the bottom drawer before standing back up with a triumphant raise of her hand clutching a pair of dark blue boxers. When she turns back around to Yaz she’s looking down at the fabric in her hands and looking for the front, completely missing Yaz’s hungry look on her body.

She looks up and catches her stare. “What?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused, then looks back down at her still naked body. “Oh.” Her cheeks flush pink and she steps into the boxers and pulls on a shirt she randomly grabs out of the dresser. She walks over to where Yaz sits on the edge of the bed and steps between her legs, running one hand through silky brown hair and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Yaz’s hands come to rest on her hips by reflex (instinct?) and she looks down at the boxers, finally seeing what the design is.

She looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Stars?”

The Doctor grins and looks down at her underwear. “Constellations! Quite accurate, too.” When she turns to leave the room, Yaz sees the constellation for Aquila, the eagle (it’s labeled, too) on her butt as she walks out.

Yaz pulls on her undershirt (that somehow had ended up draped over the television) and a pair of the Doctor’s boxers with little rainbows on them. When she walks through the big living room she stops to look down on the city below. The sun is well past set and the ever growing dark creeps in from east, street lights blinking on underneath her. She hears the tap turn on in the kitchen and the tell tale sounds of someone rummaging through drawers and cabinets.

When she steps in the kitchen the Doctor already has a mug ready for her but she stops in her tracks when she turns to face Yaz, eyes running over her exposed arms and shoulders. Yaz steps close and takes the mug from her hands and takes a sip, closing her eyes at the warmth.

“This is good tea,” she murmurs.

The Doctor reaches up and trails her hand down Yaz’s bicep, then up to her collar bones. Her hand comes to rest flat against the left side of her chest, just above her breast.

“Why’re you lookin’ so starry eyed? You just saw me naked,” Yaz points out.

“Always a beautiful sight, you are.” The Doctor sounds a little breathy when she says it, then she clears her throat and steps back, bringing her own mug up to her lips and taking a sip. She closes her eyes and cups the mug close to her face. “I was right bringing my own tea.”

“Where’s it from?” Yaz asks, inspecting the box on the island. The Doctor leans against the counter across from her.

“A little shop in a village in Scotland. Lovely people, the Scots. Well, mostly. Well, kind of.” She shrugs and takes another drink of tea. “Have you been?”

“No, never.”

“We should go sometime! I get a discount at most of the hotels!” She sounds genuinely excited and Yaz chuckles.

“Aren’t you like a billionaire or something?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Or something,” she says, then, “Everyone likes a good discount, Yaz.”

She’s not really sure when drinking tea and talking about their hypothetical Scotland trip turns into being bent over the kitchen island with the Doctor shoving three fingers in while she whispers dirty things against the back of her neck, but she’s not really complaining.

She reaches out for the edge of the island and hears a clatter of something falling to the ground but she doesn’t care, at all. The Doctor chuckles against the back of her neck and bites down on her shoulder hard and she’s coming before she can moan out a warning. She rocks her hips against the fingers as she leans her forehead against the cool marble underneath her. The Doctor soothes the bite with her tongue and presses soft kisses to the top of her spine and down her back as she removes her hand. Yaz doesn’t know where she wipes it since she can’t move from the island, body feeling like jelly.

“Do you want a shower?” The Doctor whispers against the back of her ear.

Yaz lifts her head and turns to the Doctor, lips finding each other’s easily. “Please,” she says when they part.

The shower is huge. Like, the size of Yaz’s entire bathroom. The shower is a walk in (and the Doctor had offered the tub as well but Yaz declined) with tall glass walls around it and a huge shower head with like a hundred settings, all controlled by a panel on the wall. The Doctor types on the panel for a minute before the shower head bursts to life with already steaming hot water.

Without preamble, she pulls her shirt over her head and kicks her boxers to the side and looks right at Yaz when she moans as she steps underneath the water. Yaz follows suit and lets her head fall back when the hot water runs over her body.She understands the Doctor’s reaction to it, honestly.

Yaz places her hands on the Doctor’s hips and pulls her close until the front of their bodies are pressed together. She watches a drop of water make its way down the blonde’s temple, sliding down her cheek and under her jaw. Yaz looks back to hazel eyes.

“Hi,” the Doctor says so quiet Yaz almost doesn’t hear it over the loud sound of the shower.

“Hi,” Yaz replies.

“We should go to Paris as well.”

Yaz pulls back with her brows furrowed, confused. “What?”

“For our trip. Paris. We could make a quick trip.”

Yaz rolls her eyes — so they’re back on the fake road trip. “Paris, got it. Should we stop by Rome on the way too?” she quips.

The Doctor raises both eyebrows. “We could if you wanted.”

The Doctor coming around her fingers is probably one of the things Yaz really loves (in no particular order; nice weather, fish and chips, the color yellow, her family and friends, the Doctor coming around her fingers). Her body is so reactive to Yaz’s every touch that it makes her want to make the Doctor cum over and over again until she can’t anymore (and then one more time after that). The only thing she loves more than the Doctor coming around her fingers is when the Doctor also makes _Yaz_ cum on her fingers at the same time, so they’re both panting into each others mouths and rutting into each others hands.

The Doctor kisses her hard and pushes her against the shower wall and when she goes down on her, Yaz wonders if she can even breathe with the water running down her face, but she apparently manages (or can hold her breath like, a long time) and minutes later Yaz is practically screaming her name to the heavens.

Yaz stays in the bathroom to dry her hair while the Doctor pads off down the hall. When she finishes she walks through the entire penthouse trying to find the Doctor to no avail. She finally steps into the bedroom (its always the last place you look) and sees her sleeping peacefully on the bed, on top of the covers with wet hair leaving a damp spot on the pillow.

Yaz wakes her enough to get her underneath the covers (and for the Doctor to mumble “I’m _hot_ ” and pull her shirt off) and she steps back, the Doctor laying on her stomach with the covers pulled up to her neck andtoned back exposed to the room. She places a soft kiss to pale shoulder blades and looks over at her own clothes piled on the floor when she straightens up. She debates with herself for all of thirty seconds before making up her mind and shutting the light off, walking to the other side of the bed and sliding between soft, expensive sheets.

* * *

The Doctor is a cuddler, and she’s not wearing a shirt.

Yaz remembers the Doctor taking her shirt off, she doesn’t remember when they started cuddling. The blonde has one arm slung around Yaz’s waist with her head laying on her shoulder and she’s so _warm._ Yaz knows she should pull away — shouldn’t have even stayed the night, that’s not a thing you _do_ in situations like this — but she can’t bring herself to wake the peaceful blonde. The crease between her brows (that’s a little closer to the right brow than the left) is smoothed out and her mouth hangs open a bit as she breathes deep. Early morning light plays on her eyelashes and forehead and _fuck_ if it doesn’t stir something deep in Yaz’s chest.

The blonde stirs a minute later and lifts her head, looking confused. “Yaz? Why am I not wearing a shirt?” Her voice is low and husky, still laced with sleep.

“You took it off.”

“Oh,” the Doctor says, then, “For you?”

Yaz laughs, looking down at her. Their faces are close, really close, and Yaz realizes early morning sun looks even better when her eyes are open. Hazel rings turn into clear pools and blonde hair is almost gold in the light.

“No, not for me. I think you were too hot,” she says.

The Doctor lays her head back on Yaz’s chest and kisses under her jaw. She seemingly thinks of another question because her head lifts again and she regards Yaz. “Are your parents worried? You’ve been out all night.”

Yaz shakes her head. “Nah, told them I was staying with a mate. Don’t expect me back until later.”

“Smart one, Yasmin Khan. Ten points.”

“Are you keeping track?”

“Most definitely.”

Yaz looks over at the alarm clock on the night stand and groans. “I have to leave in a bit.”

“D’ya have time for breakfast?”

Yaz regards her with a raised brow. “You can cook?” She asks, suspicious. The Doctor does not seem like the type of woman who knows how to cook, like at all.

The Doctor looks up like she’s trying to remember, then says, “Well, no, but I can order room service.”

She doesn’t order room service. Instead, Yaz ends up licking long and slow with the flat of her tongue through wet folds, both arms wrapped underneath the Doctor’s thighs and holding her close. The Doctor grips hard to the back of her head as Yaz flicks her clit with the tip of her tongue.

“Fuck, Yaz, oh _fuck,_ ” the blonde moans loud, back arching off the bed but flopping back down when Yaz doesn’t give her the release she craves.

Yaz hums contentedly against her center and slowly licks at the Doctor’s entrance, brown eyes trained on hazel. She doesn’t know why she does it, or why she even feels the need to, but she lets go of the thigh and reaches up until the Doctor laces their fingers together. The Doctor looks helplessly down at her as Yaz shoves her tongue inside as far as it will go and that alone has the Doctor coming around her tongue with a loud moan. The grip in her hair turns slightly painful as the Doctor rocks her hips up slowly, letting Yaz keep pushing her tongue back in. When she stills she smooths out Yaz’s hair and looks down at her with soft eyes.

Yaz crawls up her body and kisses her, shoving her tongue past slightly parted lips and making the Doctor taste herself in Yaz’s mouth. The Doctor gasps but wholeheartedly responds, gripping the front of Yaz’s tank top and pulling her closer.

When they part, Yaz leans their foreheads together, both of them breathless. She says, “I have to go.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor replies quietly.

Her brain yells at her to get up but she finds herself not moving. The Doctor’s breathing calms the rapid beat of her heart and she wants to stay there forever, in the space between hot breath and sunlight.

“I have to work soon,” she says.

“Yeah,” the Doctor repeats, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She cups Yaz’s jaw in one hand and strokes her cheek with her thumb.

Yaz’s eyes close at the touch and she wants nothing more than to go back to sleep for another hour or week or year. Eventually, when she knows she’s really cutting it close, she presses one last kiss to the Doctor’s mouth and rolls away, sitting up on the edge of the bed and looking around for her trousers. She finds them behind the couch (she doesn’t remember kicking them that far) and her blouse tossed on the arm chair on the other side of the room. The boxers leave lines in her pants but she really doesn’t care, like at all, and slips on her heels.

The Doctor meets her in the hallway outside the lift, her phone in one hand and wallet in the other, almost an exact mirror of the last time. She hands both to Yaz and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles up to her lips to press a kiss to each of them. Yaz runs her hand through tangled blonde hair and kisses the crown of her head.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” she says, cause she figures if she’s going to hell this way, she might as well have a time while she’s doing it.

“Yeah,” the Doctor says, grinning brightly. “I’ll let you know when we can go to Scotland.”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure,” she says and gets in the lift. The doors close on the Doctor standing there, bare legs and loose t-shirt and messy hair and sleep still stuck to her skin.

Going back to work after being fucked into oblivion the night before is a head spin, but she’s nothing if not focused and so she shoves away all the thoughts and memories of the Doctor that threaten to take over during her shift. It’s a long one, full of traffic violations and domestic violence calls and by the time she gets home she has pushed the night before so far back that all she can think of is laying in bed unconscious for a few hours.

It’s not until Ryan texts her that all the memories come flooding back, along with the slight ache between her thighs.

_How was the milf?_

She rolls her eyes. _She’s not a milf. She doesn’t have a kid._

His response comes seconds later. _whatever. how was it?_

_I literally wouldn’t tell you even if it was terrible._

He sends, _so it was good????_

She wants to slap him. _yes,_ she sends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts @zanthetran on tumblr. listen to me scream about this fic #milf au on my blog. also I have a pinterest with a board for this fic not sure if anyone is interested lemme know.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> car sex and bed sex and someone catching a bad case of feelings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn’t think I’d write another chapter but here we are. Honestly i don’t know where this fic is going so your guess is as good as mine. I marked it as complete bc I really don’t know if I’ll ever continue it tbh.
> 
> written to: sex (catching feelings) by eden

The first time the Doctor texts anything even remotely sexy, Yaz is doing the dishes. She dries one hand and picks up her phone, swiping up on the lock screen before even glancing at the notification.

She almost drops her phone in the sink.

Another message pops up right underneath the picture.

_What do you think?_

Yaz presses hard on the power button as her mum rounds the corner and she shoves the phone deep in her pocket. She’s sure the flush on her face is very visible and very bright and she hopes her mum just thinks it’s from the steam from the hot water.

She replies two hours later when she finally gets back to her room after her sister’s gone back to her own room and her parents sit on the couch watching tv. The message is on the screen as soon as she unlocks it and she taps the picture, making it fill the small screen in the dim light of her room. She looks over her shoulder at the door, paranoid that Sonya will appear behind her or something, before looking back down at the picture.

The Doctor stares back at her, hazel eyes dark in the muted lighting of a hotel room (in Dubai, Yaz is pretty sure). She stands in front of a full length mirror with her feet spread and arm bent up behind her head, bicep flexing. The smooth skin of her stomach is on full display but Yaz is sure the other message is asking about the new lingerie set she’s wearing that consists of _sheer, very tight, boxers and bra._

Yaz thinks she might actually pass out. Can you die from being gay? Is that possible? Like can you just have a heart attack because a woman is so ridiculously attractive that the only thing that will save you is her fingers inside of you, or her tongue, or —

Yaz sits on the edge of her bed, staring at the picture. Another message pops up and she swipes the picture away.

_Too much?_

Yaz’s fingers move so fast she can barely get the sentence out at all. She sends, _not at all. was at dinner and got distracted, sorry._

Should she send one in return? Is that how this works? She’s sent nudes and sexted before, but she doesn’t know if that’s how this interaction works with them, honestly. It’s not like they’re dating (or ever _going to_ ) _,_ and besides, the Doctor works way too much to even _be_ in a relationship, let alone with someone like half her age.

She locks her door and takes off all of her clothes, rummaging around in a drawer for one of the lingerie sets she owns. She finds the red pair first — all lace and a bra that pushes her boobs up to her neck, practically — and puts it on quickly. She pulls up the camera on her phone and kneels in front of her full length mirror, legs spread. She holds the phone with one hand while the other rests on the inside of her thigh, high up and definitely only there to draw attention. She lets her hair fall in a curtain to the side, covering half of her face, before snapping the picture and sending it to the Doctor. She bites her lip nervously as she waits for a response.

It’s barely a minute before the typing dots show up on the screen and her stomach leaps. She doesn’t even know why she’s so nervous that this woman will like her picture.

_Fuck._

The response is only one word but it makes a heat shoot straight between her legs. She grins down at the phone, quite happy with herself and the reaction when another picture pops up, and it makes the smile drop right from her face.

It’s the same mirror but this time the Doctor is leaning against the wall, one hand shoved down the front of her boxers and head thrown back, dark hazel eyes trained on her through the phone. Yaz can imagine the sounds out of her mouth, the little breathy moans and the curses and Yaz’s own name mixed in when she does something particularly clever with her tongue.

Yaz’s fingers are moving before she thinks about it and the message that sends says, _are you touching yourself?_

Yaz imagines the little helpless nod the Doctor is probably giving to the phone. Imagines the wet between her legs and the musky taste as she dips her head down the first time. Imagines the Doctor gripping her hair and fucking her mouth until she cums hard around her tongue.

She stands and throws her phone face up on the bed, waiting for a response, and takes off the lingerie, shoving it back in the drawer and putting on a pair of the Doctor’s boxers (dark blue with little yellow stars). There’s a message waiting when she lays on the bed and she taps on it.

_Do you want me to?_

Yaz doesn’t even have to think before sending, _yes._

One hand slides down her stomach, her eyes trained on the three jumping dots indicating the Doctor’s typing.

_I’m already wet, Yaz._

Yaz swipes her fingers against her own slick heated flesh when she reads the message and she almost forgets she’s still in her bedroom, in the flat that she shares with her family ( _god_ , she needs her own flat). She covers her mouth with her wrist to stop the moan that threatens to escape.

 _Fuck. Me too,_ she sends.

Her fingers circle her clit like the Doctor does with her tongue and her eyes roll back in her head for a moment.

 _I really wish you were here,_ she sends.

The response is almost immediate. _What would you do if I was?_

Memories and dreams mix together as they flash through her mind. Everything, she thinks, absolutely anything you wanted to. Her finger slips and rubs over her clit and she lets out an involuntary gasp. Her whole body stills and she waits for movement outside her door, for her parents to knock and ask if she’s okay.

When nothing comes she holds the phone back up to find another message, a video this time. Her heart stops. Like, she’s pretty sure it literally stops beating. She’s fumbling around naked in her room looking for a pair of headphones in an instant and she shoves the ear buds into her ears, plugging the bottom into her phone. She taps on the video and turns the volume down until it’s almost nonexistent.

It’s of the Doctor (obviously), camera held at her chest. The smooth expanse of her stomach takes up the bottom part of the screen and the Doctor’s hand slides under the waistband of her boxers, her knuckles tenting the fabric up as she very obviously takes a swipe at her clit. There’s a gasp of surprise and then a satisfied moan as the movements of her hand develop a slow rhythm. Her hips buck up against her hand and Yaz knows she’s biting her lip, trying to keep the noises in as she rubs hard against herself. Another satisfied moan fills her ears before the video ends and Yaz cannot believe how fucking horny she is at the very moment (like truly ridiculous levels of turned on).

Her skin feels like it’s on fire. She’s pretty sure she’s hot to the touch and the wet between her legs is bordering on ridiculous. Her walls clench around nothing — needing, waiting — and she slides one finger in with a soft sigh.

She almost forgets about replying until she looks back at the phone and realizes it’s been minutes since she last replied.

 _I’m not going to last long,_ she sends, then, _fuck, you’re so hot._

_Are you going to cum, Yasmin?_

Yaz bites back at moan at the Doctor using her full name. From anyone else she sort of hates it and it feels kind of childish but from the Doctor it’s like she’s literally eating her out when she says it. It feels personal, like she knows a part of Yaz that most people don’t (and really, she does, in a physical sense at least).

 _I shouldn’t, my family is in the living room,_ she sends. She can _hear_ the TV playing as her mum and dad sit on the couch less than 20 feet away.

_You’ll have to be quiet, then. Can you be quiet?_

Yaz nods, forgetting for a moment that she’s alone and just sexting. One finger turned into two at some point and Yaz is pretty sure she could take a third if she wanted.

She asks, _Can I add another finger?_

Her pulse thrums through her body and it feels like her skin is going to explode. She’d be begging the Doctor to fuck her if she were here, that’s what she’d be doing. She’d be screaming the Doctor’s name as she took Yaz right on her bed, and she’d feel no shame in the moment.

_Please do. How many is that?_

_3._

_Good girl,_ the Doctor sends, with a picture taken in the full length mirror again, this time the Doctor’s boxers are pushed halfway down her thighs and Yaz can see the hand rubbing her clit. She zooms in to see better but the photo quality is shit and it only serves to turn her on more that she can’t see the Doctor properly.

Her fingers make slick noises in the quiet of her room and she feels the tense coil in her stomach tightening as she’s worked closer to the edge.

 _I’m close,_ she sends.

_Good thing I am too. Will you cum for me?_

_Fuck_ , Yaz thinks. Her hips buck up to her hand and she reaches her thumb out to rub harshly at her clit, pretending it’s the Doctor’s hand fucking her.

_Please, Doctor._

She’s probably going to die like this — on the precipice of an orgasm. Her heart beats hard in her ears and she barely reads the text that pops up, though the words repeat themselves in her mind as she’s pushed over the edge.

_Cum for me, Yasmin. Please._

Her body shakes hard as she bucks up against her hand and uses the last bit of her restraint to not moan out loud. She fucks her fingers in and curls them up and then she’s coming again, and this time she can’t help the little whimpers that leave her lips. She lay limp on the bed for what feels like forever before lifting her phone.

 _Fuck,_ she sends.

She can just imagine the Doctor’s shit eating grin. _Good? :)_

Yaz rolls her eyes. _Not as good as the real thing, love._

* * *

So, first they start sexting, then they start actually talking instead of just sending nudes back and forth, and then they start talking on the phone on nights Yaz is on a slow patrol (so most nights).

It should be a lot more weird than it is — talking to an old friend of her mum’s who has literally changed her diapers as a baby — but the Doctor doesn’t act like she’s nearing fifty, like at all (and her stamina has been put to the test more than once). She’s energetic and terrible at staying on topic but Yaz doesn’t really mind. Mostly she just lets the Doctor talk about whatever she wants, the topics ranging from something mechanical she’s working on/building to a story about a time she got arrested in Kazakhstan for breaking into the wrong building on accident (signage isn’t clear when you don’t speak Russian).

“So you just spent a bunch of time breaking into buildings for a living?” Yaz asks one night when patrol had gotten slow. She’s covering a few night shifts for a coworker that just had a baby and the Doctor is stuck somewhere where it’s already morning. Yaz can hear the scrape of her fork on her plate through the headphone in her ear.

“It’s a real job, Yaz. It just so happens I’m super good at breaking into things. Thought it was a perfect match.”

“So then why did you have to rappel through the ceiling?”

“Because it sounded _so cool_ and I really wanted to try it,” the Doctor says, sounding quite chuffed about it. “And Jack bet me fifty quid I wouldn’t be able to.”

They don’t talk about when they’ll next see each other. They don’t say things like _I miss you_ or _I miss the feel of your skin underneath my hands_ or _I want to touch you until my name is the only thing you remember_. They don’t say things like that, because they’re not like, dating (or ever going to, Yaz reminds herself).

She talks to Ryan about it. “I just don’t know what she wants from me,” she says when she finishes her reps.

Ryan stands in front of the floor length mirrors on the wall and flexes his bicep. He looks over at her in the mirror as she sits up on the bench. “I think it’s pretty obvious what she wants from you, mate.”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “I mean, what’s like the big picture? What does she even get out of this?”

“A sugar baby?” Ryan suggests unhelpfully.

Yaz throws her glove at him.

A week later she comes out of her room to find her mum setting a fifth place setting at the table.

“We havin’ a guest over?” Yaz asks, taking the silverware from the drawer and setting it out next to the plates.

“Yeah, the last one is for —“ the door bell rings, cutting her mum off midway through her sentence. Yaz hands Sonya the silverware and heads to the door to let in whatever mystery guest they were having over that night.

Imagine the surprise when she opens the door to a familiar blonde, the grin on her face only getting bigger when she sees Yaz.

“Yaz! Hiya.” She looks like she’s going to pull her into a hug but decides against it.

For a second — a ridiculous second — Yaz genuinely believes the Doctor is showing up for a booty call of some kind, and she almost asks her what _the hell_ she’s doing here before her mum comes up behind her and pulls the Doctor into a hug.

“Doctor, good to see you,” she says, leading her past Yaz still standing dumbly at the door.

The only conclusion her brain can come up with for how the Doctor is acting so normal around her is that she’s imagined her entire encounter with her and this is only the second time they’ve met. She genuinely starts to believe she might be going mad and she even checks her phone quick to look at the messages between her and the Doctor, just to make sure she’s not actually losing her mind.

It’s one of those times when she’s looking at her phone underneath the table that two messages pop up, both pictures, both of the Doctor almost nude. Her knee bangs hard on the bottom of the table and she presses the off button on her phone hard, almost dropping it on the floor in the process. The entire table looks over at her, confused, and Yaz does _not_ look at the innocent look on the Doctor’s face.

“Yasmin, put your phone away at the table, we have a guest,” her dad scolds.

Yaz does what she’s told and slides the phone in her back pocket. She ignores the Doctor’s innocent looks during dinner and can’t get the annoying flush to leave her cheeks the entire meal.

She offers to do the dishes after dinner is over, hoping the Doctor will stick with her mum on the balcony and she’ll be able to breathe and stop being _so fucking thirsty_ for this woman. She knows she’s wet, she can feel it. She’s wet and the Doctor hasn’t even _touched_ her, let alone done anything sexy.

But the Doctor offers to help (of course she does). Sonya goes back to her room, happy she doesn’t have to help clean up, and her mum goes out to the balcony to sit while her dad takes out the trash. Yaz is left alone with the Doctor and she thinks she might pass out if the Doctor so much as looks at her with bedroom eyes.

The Doctor comes up beside her and reaches around her, far too close than what is necessary, to pull the drying towel off the hook. Her body presses Yaz against the sink for the briefest second and she’s pretty sure she lets out a small gasp at the pressure, at the extra push of the Doctor’s hips she knows is on purpose. It’s gone as soon as it started and the blonde stands next to her, drying the dishes she washes and putting them back up in their respective cabinets, looking like it’s any other normal day. When all the dishes are washed and dried Yaz turns off the water. The Doctor turns to her and runs the towel over her hands, drying them off for her.

“Did you like my pictures?” She asks so nonchalantly that Yaz thinks for a minute she had sent other non-sexual pictures until she sees the predatory look in the Doctor’s eyes. She’s suddenly aware of the close proximity of their bodies and the Doctor’s strong hands rubbing her arms, just a towel between.

Yaz is about to answer when Sonya walks in. “What pictures?” She asks, ignoring the two of them and opening the door, pulling out a pitcher of juice. The Doctor drops her arms and steps back to let Sonya get a cup from the cabinet.

“Oh, saw a cat cafe when I were in France. Brilliant thing, so many amazing cats,” the Doctor says easily (and Yaz has no idea if it’s even true). She looks at Yaz when she says the next part, “Love me some good pussy.”

Both Sonya and Yaz stop in their tracks, turning to the Doctor who looks at them with complete innocence written on her face. Yaz knows — she _knows_ — the innocence is completely fake, the Doctor understands exactly what she’d said. Knows exactly the way it makes Yaz’s clit throb.

Sonya laughs first, then Yaz joins in, mostly out of relief. Her sister puts the juice back in the fridge and picks up her full cup, heading back to her room. “You’re weird,” she says to the Doctor before disappearing behind her door.

The look in the Doctor’s eyes tells Yaz exactly what she wants at that moment and Yaz really can’t help the way her body reacts to it.

The sliding glass door of the balcony opens and her mum says, “Yasmin, put the kettle on.”

Yaz does as told and the Doctor leaves to the balcony with one last longing look at Yaz, eyes trailing down her body. Yaz gets three mugs of tea ready and brings them out to the dimly lit balcony, handing one to her mother sitting on one of the deck chairs and one to the Doctor sitting on the loveseat. Yaz sits in the only available seat — next to the Doctor (of _course_ ). Her thigh burns where they touch and she can feel the heat radiating off the Doctor’s form.

She doesn’t drop her tea when she feels a hand on her lower back, fingers crawling along her skin. The Doctor carries on the conversation with her mum about their new servers being installed in India, technical speak that Yaz doesn’t understand even half of, while her other hand carries on slowly stroking Yaz’s skin and dipping below the waistband of her jeans. Nails lightly scratch her skin and play with the waistband of her underwear, dipping beneath until she feels an entire hand on her ass.

Her mum leaves to refill her and the Doctor’s mugs (Yaz hasn’t drank a bit of her own, her jaw clenched far too hard to even speak let alone drink). When her mum leaves Yaz turns on the Doctor, face flushed and ridiculously turned on.

“What are you doing?”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow and looks down to where her hand is currently inside Yaz’s pants — thank god it’s so dark on the balcony or it would be clearly visible. She squeezes soft flesh and Yaz’s eyes close for a second, head dropping down to her chest before remembering their situation.

“Accosting me in front of my mother on the balcony of our flat?” she quips, voice barely above a whisper.

“I hardly think it counts as _accosting_ if you’re a willing participant,” the Doctor whispers back. “You can stop me any time,” she says as she sits back against the cushion of the loveseat.

The sliding door reopens and Najia walks out, carrying two cups of tea. Yaz looks back down to her (now cold) tea and feels the Doctor squeeze her ass again, hard, and she really, really hates her, like a lot.

An hour later and Yaz is about ready to throttle her mother, truly. She loves her so much but this woman cannot let anyone leave in a timely manner, and it’s well past ten when the Doctor gets to the door, coat in hand, and says her goodbyes. She holds onto Yaz’s hand and says, “Nice to meet you again, Yasmin,” then shakes her parents hands and leaves. Yaz immediately pulls her phone out and sends a text, _Five minutes._

The response is almost instant, _car park._

She waits five minutes and pretends she’s getting a call from Ryan about his cat, mumbling an excuse to her parents about helping him and being back later, and she grabs her jacket before anyone can ask any questions. The lift seems like it takes twice the time it usually does and by the time she steps out into the car park she’s practically shaking.

She knows the car by sight alone and slips into the passenger side, apparently startling the Doctor who was staring at a book in her lap.

Yaz doesn’t let her put it down before she’s leaning over the middle console and kissing her, tongue darting out past open lips and making it’s home in the Doctor’s mouth. The Doctor lets out a squeak of surprise but her hands come up to pull Yaz closer all the same. The desperation fills her up until she actually is climbing over the console between them and sits in the blonde’s lap, knees on either side of her hips, and it’s not comfortable and she’s not getting any friction where she needs it so she grabs the Doctor’s hand and shoves it between her legs.

The Doctor takes the hint, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding the zipper down. She slips one hand past the waistband of her underwear and Yaz lets out a quiet moan when fingertips come into contact with heated flesh.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” she whispers, head tilting back towards the windshield. The car isn’t spacious by any means but two fingers enter her and then she doesn’t really care about space or being caught or anything at all, really. The Doctor bites at her neck and licks up her jaw and another hand comes around to knead her ass as she rocks into curled fingers.

She leans forward and rests her forehead against the Doctor’s, holding eye contact. The Doctor’s soft pants hit her lips every time she thrusts up. She looks hopelessly turned on and Yaz feels a little bad she’s not reciprocating at the moment, but she doesn’t think she’d be able to concentrate on it honestly. She can barely keep her hips moving in a steady fashion, let alone make someone else cum at the same time.

“Please, Doctor,” she begs, voice whiny even to her own ears.

The Doctor responds by reaching out with her other hand and rubbing tight circles on Yaz’s clit and she fucks her fingers deeper into her. Yaz doesn’t even have a choice in the matter when she cums hard, grinding down on tense fingers and moaning loud (probably too loud considering they’re in a car park). She pants, breathless, as she rides out her orgasm before dropping her head to the Doctor’s shoulder. She places a kiss to the underside of her jaw as she feels fingers pull out of her.

“Please don’t wipe those on my pants,” Yaz mumbles tiredly.

She doesn’t wipe them on Yaz’s pants. In fact, she instead pulls Yaz up by the hair and basically shoves them into her own mouth. Yaz is surprised, to say the least, and she doesn’t do anything for a full thirty seconds as she looks into the Doctor’s face. After a long tense moment she closes her lips around the digits and slowly circles her tongue flat around them. She sucks each one clean, releasing them all with a pop of her lips, then leans back down to capture the Doctor’s lips.

When they part again Yaz whispers, “I don’t taste nearly as good as you do.”

“Nonsense, you taste even better,” the Doctor says.

Yaz turns and looks at the car dashboard, the clock reading ten minutes since she left her flat. She looks back at the Doctor. “I need to get back soon.”

The Doctor nods. “I know. I just like making you, uh, do that,” she says awkwardly.

Yaz laughs. “So you can sext and talk dirty in bed but you can’t say the word ‘cum’ in normal sentences?”

The Doctor blushes. “It’s different when you say it,” she insists.

“Yeah?” Yaz teases, hands going to the front of the Doctor’s jeans. “How is it different?” She keeps an air of nonchalance in her voice as she slowly slides the zipper down. She looks back up at the Doctor, waiting, hand at the top of her boxers.

The Doctor looks proper disheveled and Yaz is loving it. Her chest heaves behind the white shirt she wears and Yaz can see the heavy thrum of her pulse against her neck. She looks down to Yaz’s hand and back up to her face.

“Just — just different. Hot,” she blurts, sounding like absolutely no thought is behind her words anymore. “ _Please_ , Yasmin.”

Yaz slips her hand underneath the waistband and swallows the soft sigh from chapped lips as she swipes up, rubbing hard at her clit.

“I love having you like this,” Yaz whispers against her ear as she dips one fingertip inside. The reaction is immediate — the Doctor’s arms reach up to grip at her shoulders and she lets out a weak whimper, bottom lip between her teeth. “I bet you’d say anything to make me fuck you right now, wouldn’t you?” she growls against soft flesh. She pushes one finger in to the first knuckle and bites down on a pale shoulder.

The Doctor groans loud. “I would, Yaz. Please. What do you want me to say? I’ll say it. I’ll give you anything you want, anything at —“ Yaz pushes her entire finger in and the Doctor’s words are cut off with a moan. “Oh, _god._ ”

Yaz slowly pumps her finger and uses her thumb to flick at her hard clit, earning soft little gasps from the Doctor each time. “Actually, my name is Yaz,” she says with a cheeky smile. The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge it, her hips lifting from the seat to get more. Yaz adds a second finger and curls them up as she thrusts in and the Doctor grips the back of her neck, pulling her down for a kiss.

The angle is a bit painful for Yaz but the Doctor clenches hard around her fingers and looks up at her while she’s being fucked and Yaz _can’t_ stop, she’s not _heartless_. She rubs hard on the Doctor’s clit and tugs on the ear chain with her teeth and growls in her ear, “Cum for me, Doctor. _Please._ ”

The Doctor looks helplessly into her eyes and then she’s pushed over the edge, her walls clamping tight around Yaz’s fingers and her body stiffening hard in the seat. The moan she lets out is almost definitely loud enough to be heard outside and Yaz is a bit worried they might be caught, honestly. She slows her pumping fingers, letting the Doctor ride out the rest of her orgasm, and pulls out, wiping them on her own pants (and yes, she sees the double standard but the Doctor doesn’t look like she could take it if Yaz shoved her fingers in her mouth). She lifts the Doctor’s head and kisses her softly, chaste kisses across her lips and cheeks while she calms down. She licks at the slowing pulse and tugs on the ear chain (she _really_ likes this piece of jewelry).

When the Doctor stills, Yaz pulls back and regards her. “Good?” She asks.

The Doctor looks up at her dreamily — well fucked. "Brilliant."

Yaz grins. "Good, cause my legs are asleep and I'll probably need them amputated at the very least."

"What a shame," the Doctor deadpans, opening the car door and maneuvering with Yaz to let her slide off her lap. Yaz buttons her pants and the blonde buttons her own. She glances over at the clock on the dashboard -- twenty minutes since she left, not too bad.

“I’ll carry you round, then,” the Doctor says, hands on Yaz’s hips. She’s sat sideways on the drivers seat, Yaz standing between her legs.

“Good to know you’ll be supportive,” Yaz quips, leaning down to kiss her again.

The Doctor grins against her mouth and mumbles, “Of course.”

Her parents don’t comment on the slightly disheveled look, and when they ask about Ryan’s cat Yaz yells back, “Found it under his couch,” before shutting the door to her room and collapsing on her bed.

* * *

She gets her own flat. It’s in the same building as her parents flat but it’s her own space and Ryan comes by one weekend to help her move all her stuff down there. She buys a cheap couch off some lady on Facebook and Graham buys her a few potted plants for her window sills. Her mum and dad stop by and tell her how proud of her they are, and how nice everything looks. Sonya comes by almost every other day to sit on her couch and listen to music while she types away at her computer, and Ryan comes over on his days off and sometimes brings Graham with him to watch the game on Yaz’s tv (one of her coworkers was upgrading and she bought the 60” off of him dirt cheap).

So it’s home, her home, and she loves it (and so does hamburger the cat who has made the window sill in the front window His Spot).

Yaz is a few minutes from ending her shift for the night when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and taps on the message without reading the name.

_Are you around?_

Yaz texts back, _Just getting off work. In town?_

_For a bit._

She sends the address of her new flat and tells her she’ll be home in twenty.

The Doctor is sitting on the ground in front of her flat when she gets there thirty minutes later.

“Sorry, traffic was bad,” Yaz explains, holding her hand out to the woman to help her up. She unlocks the door to her flat and takes a step inside, flipping on the light as a small meow sounds from somewhere in the bedroom.

Hamburger come out of the room and wraps himself around the Doctor’s legs when she tries taking her boots off at the door and Yaz pushes him away with her foot. “Sorry about him, he loves people. You’re not allergic are you?” she asks.

“Not allergic, I don’t think,” the Doctor says, crouching down and holding her hand out to the black cat. He sniffs at her fingers for all of a second before allowing her to pet his head (and the rest of his body), then flopping on the floor and showing her his belly.

The Doctor apparently doesn’t speak cat or read cat language because she keeps petting his face and chin and he starts nipping at her fingers. She pulls her hand away, looking a little wounded and Yaz takes pity on her. “He wants you to pet his belly. He’ll bite you if you don’t.”

The Doctor reaches out, tentatively rubbing the cat’s belly and he starts purring loud, his mouth opening a bit and tongue lolling out.

“Brilliant cat you’ve got here, Yaz,” the Doctor notes.

Yaz hums in agreement as she pulls her hair out of the tight braid and drops the bobby pins in a dish on her dresser full of about a hundred other identical pins. She comes back out to the living room to find the Doctor still crouched down and petting the cat’s belly.

“You’ll be doing that all night if you’re not careful,” Yaz says, leaning on the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest.

The Doctor looks up at her. “I don’t mind. He’s a very handsome man,” she says, giving the cat one last pat and straightening up. She looks around the small living/dining room, taking in the art hung on the walls and the pictures sitting in frames on the shelves she had made Ryan put up for her. Her eyes take in every part of the room and Yaz feels naked, suddenly, like this woman is looking into her soul or something, and she finds she doesn’t really mind all too much. In fact it only makes her want to tell her the stories behind all the pictures, like the one where she and Sonya stand hand in hand covered in soap bubbles (backyard water slide made out of trash bags) or the one of her and her mum in front of a beach, flowers stuck in their hair (spontaneous trip when she was having a bad mental health week as a teenager) or the one of her and Ryan at about twelve years old, covered in mud and soaking wet (he pushed her into the lake, she tackled him to the ground in a big pile of mud).

“I like your flat,” she says to Yaz, turning back to her.

“Not nearly the penthouse you’re used to,” Yaz notes.

The Doctor scrunches her face as she takes a step closer into Yaz’s space. “Nah, but I don’t care for that much space anyways. Feels too empty if you don’t have someone to share it with.”

Yaz’s hands come out instinctively to rest on the Doctor’s hips and the Doctor hooks her arms around Yaz’s neck.

“I love a woman in uniform,” the Doctor whispers, eyes darting down to Yaz’s lips.

“Yeah? What if I was a janitor?” Yaz quips.

The Doctor trails her lips over her neck .“I would still love you,” she mumbles against soft skin.

It’s like the words literally stop time. Yaz’s heart thuds so hard in her chest she’s pretty sure it’s going to beat right out. The Doctor stops in her movements and pulls back, panicked look on her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that — that came out wrong,” she stammers.

“I know,” Yaz says, heartbeat in her ears blocking out most of the ambient noise.

“I meant I would still find you attractive in a different uniform,” she explains.

“I know,” Yaz repeats, because really, what else can she say? What else is there to say other than _I don’t know what it means that my hands fit in your hands perfectly_ or _maybe the reason we have one heart but two hands is so we can hold another’s_ or _I don’t know if I love you, but I know I love knowing you._

There’s tense silence as they stare at each other — the Doctor looking a bit frantic, like she’d let something slip that wasn’t supposed to be let out yet, and Yaz looking guarded, not letting anything spill out (she got good at that at a young age).

Finally, when Yaz realizes the Doctor isn’t going to keep touching her, she grabs a fistful of her crisply ironed shirt and crashes their lips together, using the only language they both speak (she doesn’t know what she’s trying to say yet). She guides them backwards through the doorway to her room, falling back on the bed when the Doctor pushes lightly at her shoulders. She follows Yaz down, lips still connected, and pulls at her tucked in uniform shirt. Yaz lifts her knee between the Doctor’s legs until she meets resistance and the Doctor gasps into her mouth, hips rolling down against the strong muscle.

Her head falls forward to rest against Yaz’s shoulder as she grinds her hips forward. Yaz uses one hand to guide her lips back and the other pops open the buttons on her shirt, pushing it from her shoulders easily. The Doctor isn’t wearing a bra underneath.

Yaz pulls back and raises an eyebrow, looking down at her bare chest. The Doctor huffs but doesn’t seem too upset with her when Yaz pulls a nipple into her mouth and tugs lightly with her teeth. The Doctor moves her leg to straddle her lap and Yaz sits up, mouth still continuing it’s assault on her chest. She pinches the other nipple in her hand while she places hot open mouthed kisses all over the Doctor’s chest. Her hand runs through Yaz’s messy hair and grips hard at the back of her neck. Her head tilts back as she rocks her hips forward to shamelessly grind against the front of Yaz, and that image alone has Yaz imagining the Doctor riding her and then she can’t get _that_ image out of her mind.

Yaz detaches her mouth, wraps an arm around the Doctor’s back and flips them over, the Doctor’s back hitting the soft mattress roughly. The blonde lets out a gasp of surprise and Yaz shoves her tongue in her mouth before she can say another word. Hands scratch down her abs and easily unbutton her trousers, pulling the zipper down as well. Yaz pulls away and rips the pants down her legs, along with her boxers (white with daisies printed on them). She gives no preamble before lowering her head to the Doctor’s wet center and taking a long lick up. The Doctor groans, hand tightening in her hair and hips lifting.

“Don’t move,” Yaz commands, hand squeezing her hip. She watches the Doctor pull a pillow behind her head to tilt her up a bit to be able to see. She waits for the blonde to nod before continuing, sucking hard at her clit then circling it with her tongue. The Doctor watches every movement with rapt attention and Yaz feels her stomach muscles tense underneath the strain of holding back.

When Yaz feels wetness start to wet her jaw she pulls back and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, and then realizes what she just said as the Doctor looks at her wide eyed (and nodding, _idiot_ ). “I meant with a strap,” she clarifies.

This time the Doctor nods faster. “Please.”

Yaz stands up and walks over to her dresser, rummaging around in the drawer before finding the harness. She pulls the toy out of her nightstand drawer and starts the process of getting undressed and putting it all together. She stands at the edge of the bed tightening the stupid straps that won’t seem to do what they’re supposed to do, and she can’t figure out where the last buckle is supposed to hook through when she spots a flash of blonde hair in front of her. Her eyes raise slightly to see the blonde kneeling in front of her, hands on her bare thighs but tapping anxiously against pale skin like they want to do something.

The blonde looks up at her and, without any warning, takes the head of the toy into her mouth, cheeks hollowing with an apparent hard suck. And Yaz can’t, like, _feel_ her mouth on the toy or anything, but the way the Doctor grips the base and applies pressure directly above her clit tells Yaz she knows what she’s doing. The Doctor lets Yaz nudge another inch in, then another, and another until she hits resistance. The Doctor’s eyes water as Yaz holds her there and when she pulls back she takes in a deep breath, spit trailing from her mouth to the toy. Yaz reaches down and grips her jaw in one hand, guiding the tip towards her lips again. She pulls her bottom lip down with the silicone and the look the Doctor gives her makes Yaz wish she could take a picture, save it to wank off to later. The Doctor takes the cock greedily and starts bobbing her head, fully sucking the toy off. Yaz lets her go at her own pace, only jutting her hips forward an extra centimeter when she goes down.

And as much fun watching the Doctor suck her (fake) dick is, she has a plan in mind and she wants to act out that plan, and that plan includes Yaz fucking the Doctor into oblivion — or at least until she screams her name.

She pulls the toy from the blonde’s mouth and tugs her up by her hair. “Bend over,” she growls against the skin of her neck, biting down. The Doctor immediately does as told, putting a pillow under her hips and spreading her legs, pushing her ass higher in the air for Yaz.

Yaz rubs a good amount of lube over the shaft and lines it up with the Doctor’s entrance. The blonde lets out a noise of surprise and her hips lift a little higher, chasing the pressure. Yaz holds on tight to her hip and uses the other hand to keep the toy steady as she pushes in the first inch.

The Doctor moans loud, “Oh, _fuck, Yasmin._ ” Her head drops forward, shoulders and back flexing under pale skin.

Yaz nudges another inch inside, then another, and another, and another, earning her a gasp of pleasure from the Doctor at each new stretch. When she bottoms out she runs her hand up and down the Doctor’s spine, waiting for her to relax into it. The Doctor breathes heavy through her nose but eventually turns her head and looks at Yaz as best she can.

“ _Please_ , Yasmin,” she begs.

Yaz’s hands go back to grip her hips tight and she pulls out halfway, slamming her hips back in. The Doctor’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she drops her head again. She lets out a loud moan that sort of sounds like Yaz’s name and sort of just sounds like a string of curse words (maybe it’s both) as Yaz uses her grip to pull the Doctor back on the toy when she thrusts in. The blonde groans through grit teeth and Yaz watches her knuckles turn white as she grips the sheets.

Fucking the Doctor is almost an out of body experience, really. She’s already so expressive in her normal day to day conversations and personality that the reactions Yaz pulls out of her change second by second, and it’s a wonder to watch. Yaz can see the muscles under pale skin tense when she thrusts in particularly hard, and the soft opening of her mouth when Yaz grinds against her ass, toy still buried deep.

The crease between her brows that deepens when Yaz bends over her and husks in her ear, “Are you gonna cum for me?” And the resulting lip bite and helpless groan as Yaz slams her hips into her only furthers Yaz’s need to completely unravel this woman.

Her abs ache and she’s really sweaty and she really wants a shower but then Doctor’s mouth opens in a cry and she’s coming hard around the toy inside of her and Yaz places a palm on her lower back as she guides her through it. The blonde’s muscles tense and she rocks back against Yaz helplessly as her climax rocks her body.

When she slows, Yaz pulls out and the Doctor collapses on the mattress, arms hanging off the side. Yaz pulls the harness off, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud before climbing back on the bed and straddling the back of the blonde’s thighs. She bends over and places a kiss to the Doctor’s back, working her way up her spine until she reaches her neck. The Doctor turns her head, eyes stills closed, and makes an exaggerated kissy face. Yaz rolls her eyes but kisses her (as best she can with the angle).

“I like your sheets,” the Doctor whispers, eyes closed and dreamy look on her face as Yaz trails her lips over her shoulder to the back of her neck and to the other shoulder. She nips lightly and kisses the freckles she finds there.

“Thanks, were on sale,” Yaz murmurs against her skin. “Wanked off to your video on ‘em last night.”

The Doctor’s back tenses under Yaz’s lips. “Yeah?” she asks, voice suddenly husky again.

“Yeah,” Yaz says easily, kissing the back of the Doctor’s neck and licking up to her jaw.

The Doctor’s lips part in a silent gasp as Yaz’s lips attach to her pulse point, sucking hard. Yaz rolls her hips forward, still very much aware of the underwear she’s still wearing. The fabric rubs against her clit and she grinds down harder into the Doctor’s ass. The Doctor grips the sheets in one hand as they’re both rocked forward by the movements.

“Do you need something?” the Doctor asks, voice wavering slightly as Yaz continues to thrust against her.

Yaz moves both hands to hold the Doctor’s torso flat against the bed and rocks forward hard, and she can’t help the moan that leaves her lips when wet fabric rubs against her clit again.

“Not particularly, no,” Yaz says, the roll of her hips keeping a steady pace. She lets her head drop forward as she supports herself with her arms, hands still on the back of the Doctor’s shoulders.

“Yaz.” She sounds a bit irritated and a lot horny and Yaz smirks. “I can help, y’know.”

Yaz’s breath comes in quick pants now, the heat pooling at the base of her spine getting hotter with each roll of her hips — and honestly at this point she’s basically just dry humping the blonde like a horny teenage boy. She says, “I’m good, thanks,” between a quick breath and a soft moan.

The Doctor tries to lift herself up and Yaz applies more pressure to her shoulders until she’s forced back down. She huffs. “Do you want me to beg? Is that what this is? Because I will, you know I will —“

She’s cut off when Yaz lets out a groan, “ _Fuck._ ” Her knees bend more and she’s grinding hard on the Doctor’s ass, wet fabric leaving it’s mark.

Her head turns and she tries looking at Yaz to no avail, letting out another huff. “ _Please_ , Yaz.”

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is hopeful and it makes the next words so much more sweet.

“Stop begging.”

A new request neither of them ever thought they’d use. The Doctor’s mouth clicks shut and she raises her hips, pressing her ass harder into Yaz’s center. Yaz groans low in her throat, rocking hips getting faster and more erratic. She’s close, her nails digging into soft flesh. She leans down and husks in the Doctor’s ear, “I’m close, Doctor.”

“Oh, Yaz,” the Doctor breathes.

Yaz ruts into her harder than before, letting out a soft moan at the rough fabric rubbing her clit. “ _Fuck_ ,” she whispers underher breath, the friction on her clit quickly becoming not enough as her ascent to her orgasm stops. “Doctor, talk to me.”

The Doctor starts in immediately, not holding back in the slightest. “ _God_ , Yaz, I want to roll over right now and make you cum on my tongue, so bad. _So bad._ I can practically taste you already. Or I could fuck you into the mattress if you’d prefer. You look so beautiful when I —“

Her words are cut off by a loud moan from Yaz as she cums hard against the Doctor. Her fingers grip rough to slim shoulders as she bucks her hips, head tilted back. She’s pretty sure she curses, or moans the Doctor’s name, or both, and she’s definitely sure she doesn’t care. The waves of pleasure wash over her as she keeps up the rocking rhythm and she doesn’t stop until she starts feeling her body again. She lets go of the Doctor’s shoulders and runs her fingertips over the half moon indents.

As soon as she moves off the Doctor she’s pushed down and her underwear are being ripped off, the Doctor settling herself between her legs. She stops, looks up at Yaz for barely a second (wherein Yaz gives a nod of consent) and dives in. Her tongue makes long flat swipes up and over Yaz’s clit that has her gripping blonde hair and moaning loud.

Arms wrap around her thighs and pull her close and Yaz really doesn’t have any other choice than to let her body succumb to the pleasure, the Doctor’s incessant tongue lapping at her clit and teasing her entrance, bringing her back to the peak.

Twenty minutes later, she’s hot and sweaty and the Doctor is laying next to her, one arm slung over her waist and chuffed look on her face. The setting sun shines through the slit of the curtain and gives her a light halo, making her hair look gold. Yaz reaches up and touches the skin warmed by the sun, fingertips ghosting over her collarbone.

She looks up into hazel eyes and sees those words repeated back at her, the words the Doctor accidentally said, the ones that could break this fragile thing they’ve built.

Yaz isn’t in love. That would be _absolutely_ ridiculous.

She falls asleep with an ache in her chest and the Doctor’s thumb stroking intricate circles on her back and the evening sun still casting an orange glow upon their tangled bodies and those words repeating over and over in her head — _I would still love you._

* * *

She wakes to her front door opening and Sonya barging in, yelling, “Yaz, get up, it’s practically noon —“

Her sister stops in the doorway, eyes flicking between Yaz (now sitting up) and the Doctor stirring next to her, both of them still very much naked.

“Who’s yellin’?” the Doctor mumbles, rolling over tiredly in bed.

Sonya doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Yaz can hear her own thumping heart and she starts to get out of bed, quickly remembering how not dressed she is and sitting back down, holding the sheet close to her chest.

“Son —“

“Oh. My. _God,_ ” Sonya says. The Doctor is sitting up now, hair a mess and very obviously naked as well. She looks from Sonya to Yaz and back again like a tennis match is going on, though no words are being said.

Finally, Sonya says, “Alright,” and turns on her heel, leaving the flat as quick as she’d arrived.

Yaz feels her stomach drop. She feels like she might throw up. All she can imagine is Sonya going upstairs and telling their mother what she saw (which, it wouldn’t even be the end of the world, but it would be a big blowout and she’s not too keen to see it).

She doesn’t even realize she’s hyperventilating until a hand is on the small of her back and Yaz realizes the Doctor’s saying her name, trying to pull her face towards her.

It sounds like she’s talking through glass when she says, “Yaz? Yaz, look at me. Yasmin, _look at me_. Hey, it’ll be okay, look at me, Yaz.”

Her face comes into focus and Yaz sucks in one deep, shuddering breath.

“Good, _breathe_ , Yaz. Just breathe, it’ll be alright,” the Doctor says, voice low and soft and _concerned_. She cups Yaz’s cheek in one hand and strokes with her thumb. With the other hand she brings Yaz’s hand up to her chest, the heavy but slow thump underneath her palm. “It’ll be okay, Yasmin. Just breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

Yaz keeps her eyes on the Doctor’s own as she paces her breathing, sucking in deep breaths and holding them before letting them out. The Doctor’s heartbeat calms her more than she’d like to admit and she almost pulls her hand away (the situation is already fucked up, might as well let it run it’s course).

“Thank you,” she whispers when she’s calm, when her mind clears of the rushing panic. “I need to talk to her.”

“That’s probably best. Do you want me to come?” The Doctor kisses her shoulder.

“No…no, I should probably go alone. Go over better if it’s just me.”

The Doctor nods, understanding written on her face. “Tell me how it goes, yeah?” she asks as Yaz goes about getting dressed.

Yaz leans over and kisses her, bumping her nose when they part. “I will.”

She finds Sonya in her room, headphones in and some pop song playing over them so loud Yaz can hear it form the doorway. She shuts the door behind her quietly and smacks her sister on the arm.

Sonya jumps. “Ow!” she yells, hand coming up to hold her arm where Yaz had hit her. When she sees Yaz she says, “Did the milf have to leave?”

Yaz wants to hit her again but refrains. Her sister is annoying and rude and at least 30% evil mastermind, and Yaz loves her, and she knows Sonya loves her too and would never knowingly do anything to hurt her. She sits on the bed and Sonya faces her but pulls her phone out, typing away. The headphones still play music through the speakers around her neck and Yaz realizes she has no idea what singer it even is ( _god_ , is she old?).

“Sonya,” she says, trying to get her sisters attention.

“What?”

Yaz rolls her eyes and cuts to the chase. “You can’t tell mum. Or dad.”

That makes Sonya look up from the screen, one brow raised. “Why?”

“You know why, Son,” she deadpans.

“Because you’re shagging mum’s friend? And boss, right? Don’t think they’ll like that?” Sonya asks, the question an obvious rhetoric. “How old is she, anyways? Like _forty_?”

“Sonya, I’m being serious. You cannot tell them,” Yaz says. “It’s not even a big deal!” she hisses.

“If it’s not a big deal then why are you here right now?” Sonya crosses her arms, phone forgotten in her hand.

“Because —“ Yaz stops, throwing her hands up. “Because it’s a big deal to other people, and our parents are those people, and you cannot tell them, Son.” She sounds like she’s pleading — she is — and she knows Sonya can hear it too.

Sonya studies her for a moment, brows furrowed like she’s trying to work something out. “Do you love her?” she asks.

That’s actually the last question Yaz expects her sister to ask and it takes her off guard. She sputters, “ _What_?”

“Do you love her? The Doctor?” Sonya repeats.

“No — of course not, what are you, I mean — _no_. Of course not.” It sounds bloody pathetic even to her own ears. She lets out a tired sigh. “I don’t know, Son,” she finally says, voice barely a whisper.

Sonya chuckles darkly. “You’re gonna have to figure _that_ out, then,” she says, shaking her head. “Alright, I won’t tell. Wasn’t gonna anyways, just wanted to see you beg.” Before Yaz can answer she puts her headphones back on and turns back to her desk, typing away on her computer.

The Doctor is gone by the time she gets back but there’s a small box of pastries from the shop down the street and a handwritten note that says, _thought sweets would help. let me know how it went xoxo._

She doesn’t realize until a week later that two of her t-shirts are gone, and she has a feeling she knows where they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always send prompts/screaming rants to @zanthetran on tumblr. tag for this fic is #milf au


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “can the plot be they’re in love and they don’t know it” of COURSE that’s the plot
> 
> feat. one single beaver fact, a fancy party, and oh a lot of sex. that’s a given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what’s up its me again back on my ~bullshit~. If you have any ideas shoot me an ask I am not above begging

“How’s weird milf?” Sonya asks, handing over the dirty plate to Yaz at the sink.

Yaz rolls her eyes. “She’s not a milf, Son. She doesn’t even have a kid.”

“Sugar mummy then?”

“Think she’d have to be buying me things to be considered a sugar mummy,” Yaz points out, handing a clean wet dish to Sonya to dry and put away.

“You don’t call expensive fancy dinners and hotel rooms buying you things?”

“Pretty sure she would’ve bought those things without me.”

“So what do you get out of it, then? Other than the obvious.” Sonya looks her up and down and grimaces like even the thought of her sister having sex grosses her out.

Yaz shrugs. “She’s nice to talk to,” she says.

Sonya barks out a laugh. “Nice to talk to? Yaz, are you listening to yourself?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, just — you sound like you’re getting attached. How do you think it’s gonna end?”

Yaz scrubs hard at the fork in her hand. “I’m not getting attached, Sonya. Contrary to what our parents sometimes think, I _am_ an adult.”

Sonya raises her hands placatingly. “Hey, none of my business, got it. I’m just saying you should be careful.”

Like it’s on cue, Yaz’s phone buzzes on the counter next to her and they both look down at the screen.

_Are you free tonight?_

Sonya raises an eyebrow at her. Yaz shuts off the water and ignores her, wiping her hands on the towel and picking up the phone.

“Really? You’re gonna set up a shag _right now?_ ” Sonya says from the kitchen.

“Shut up, Son,” Yaz says back, walking into the living room and sitting down on the couch, thumbs already typing out an answer.

_Yeah. You in town?_

The Doctor answers almost immediately, _yep! Can I come round later?_

 _Sure,_ Yaz sends, then the smile drops from her face (when had she even _started_ smiling?). _I’m on my period, though,_ she sends.

 _That’s fine_ , the Doctor sends back.

 _If this woman thinks she’s getting her “red wings” or whatever tonight, she’s going to be sorely mistaken_ , Yaz thinks to herself. When she looks up from the phone Sonya is standing in the kitchen doorway, shaking her head.

“Pathetic,” she says.

“Fuck off, Son.”

Sonya leaves an hour later, stating, “I do _not_ want to be here when she shows up. I’m not interested in seeing whose the top.”

“Me, mostly,” Yaz answers with a completely straight face.

Sonya groans loud. “Yeah, really didn’t want to know that, thanks Yaz.” She slams the door on her way out, cutting off Yaz’s loud laugh from following her into the hall.

Yaz starts at the three short knocks on her door twenty minutes later, then remembers the Doctor. She _doesn’t_ walk faster than she would’ve had it been anyone else, and she swings the door open. The Doctor stands there in jeans, converse, a thick wool jumper, and knit cap pulled over her head, blonde hair sticking out the bottom. Yaz lets her in and she pulls the hat off, hair sticking up comically. Yaz reaches forward and tries to smooth it down with her palms.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

The Doctor’s eyes dart down to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Yaz makes a face and lightly pushes her away. “Was talkin’ about food, you perv. Told you I’m on my period."

“Oh,” the Doctor says. “Well I’m that type of hungry too. I’ll buy.”

“Good, cause I weren’t offering,” Yaz quips.

“Cheeky, you are,” the Doctor says, turning around and toeing off her shoes before settling herself on the couch. She bends over and picks up Hamburger before crossing her legs and holding him in her lap. Yaz watches her get comfortable on the couch — the couch in Yaz’s flat — and that slight ache behind her ribs that is usually present when the Doctor is around makes itself known again. The Doctor looks up at her with a grin and asks, “Wanna watch a movie?” And the slight ache turns to a dull thud.

She really isn’t expecting sex from Yaz. She’s here purely for her company. They’re going to watch a movie together and order take out. It’s so disgustingly domestic that Yaz has to splash cold water on her face in the bathroom before she goes back out to the living room. The Doctor grins at her and starts reading off restaurants from the delivery app on her phone.

Thirty minutes later and they’re halfway through their containers of Chinese food. The Doctor can’t use chop sticks to save her life and Yaz gets her a fork after watching her try and fail to pick up a piece of shrimp like forty times in a row. Yaz doesn’t know what the fuck they’re watching — some docuseries the Doctor had pulled up by the time she had gotten changed from her work clothes — but the Doctor is very interested in it and watches with rapt attention as she leans against Yaz, their takeout containers now forgotten on the coffee table.

Yaz doesn’t know how exactly they ended up in this position — her back against the arm rest, the Doctor laying between her legs with her back against Yaz — but they are, and she can feel every single breath the Doctor takes. At some point she picks up Yaz’s hand and starts playing with her fingers and Yaz is pretty sure she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

Yaz spends a lot of the show watching the Doctor, the soft light of the tv playing over her features as she takes in every single word. It’s a thing to see, really. A lot of people probably underestimate her because of her general demeanor and enthusiasm, but this woman is smart, and calculating, and Yaz is a bit in awe. She watches each piece of information process in the Doctor’s eyes and her lips as she silently repeats some word the narrator says. At one point she looks over at Yaz and it’s probably the light from the tv but Yaz can swear there’s a blush.

“You’re starin’,” she says. “You’re missin’ the documentary.”

“It’s a very interesting documentary,” Yaz says. She doesn’t give two fucks about the documentary. “Learning some wonderful stuff.” Yaz’s fingers play with the hem of her jumper.

“Really? Cause it didn’t seem like you were watching,” the Doctor states, not even noticing the way Yaz’s fingers dip under the fabric until she lays her palm flat against a toned stomach. Her mouth falls open in a gasp and she tries to turn her head the whole way round to see Yaz. “Thought you said you were on your period,” she breathes when Yaz places open mouthed kisses on the back of her neck and shoulder, pulling the sweater to the side.

“I am,” Yaz mumbles against her skin. Her hand stops it’s descent. “Are you?”

“Nope, definitely not,” the Doctor says and the hand starts up again, playing with the button of her jeans. “Do you want to change posi—“

“Nope,” Yaz interrupts, pulling at the chain on her ear with her teeth. Her hand slides the zipper down and slips underneath. The Doctor lets her head fall back against Yaz’s shoulder as her fingers swipe against wet fabric. “Wow, already?”

“Shut up,” the Doctor growls, turning her head to kiss the underside of Yaz’s jaw.

“Don’t think you’re in much a position to be making orders, love,” Yaz states. Her fingers dip beneath the waistband of tight boxers and the Doctor’s hips jerk up. “Be still.”

“Please, Yaz.”

Yaz lowers her hand. “Since you asked so nicely,” she says, finger swiping through slick heat. The Doctor’s eyes squeeze shut and she groans into Yaz’s ear. She finds she really likes this angle when every single noise that comes out of the Doctor’s mouth goes straight into her ear.

She swipes hard at her clit, not giving any type of warning, and the Doctor almost shoots off the couch in surprise. Yaz holds her down and kisses her neck, trying to soothe her. “Keep still, alright?”

The Doctor nods and bites her lip, crease back between her brows. Yaz rubs at her clit again and she whimpers in her throat as a finger probes at her entrance. Yaz’s other hand slips up sharp ribs and brushes the underside of her breast. She smirks against pale skin and the Doctor growls, “Don’t even.”

“I told you I were on my period,” Yaz says.

“It has nothing to do with that, I just don’t like bras.”

“Or you were hoping I’d feel you up during a boring documentary?”

The Doctor gasps in mock outrage. “Yaz! It is not a boring documentary, it’s riveting and exciting! You weren’t even paying attention the entire time.”

“Yeah, I’m not payin’ attention now either,” Yaz says and shoves one finger in until her knuckles brush wet skin. Whatever response the Doctor had been going to say is lost on her lips and replaced with a loud moan and rock of her hips. She’s pretty much squishing Yaz against the arm rest (and thank god Yaz had put a pillow behind her or her spine would be in two pieces). Yaz slowly pumps one finger into the blonde while her other hand squeezes one breast, twisting a hard nipple between her fingers.

The Doctor groans into her ear and her hot heavy pants hit Yaz’s neck like it’s her tongue directly. She whimpers around Yaz’s name and curses and things that sound a lot like both, and Yaz doesn’t give her any more. She brings her to the peak more than once before slowing down again and letting the blonde plead helplessly into her ear.

She adds another finger when one becomes almost pointless and then adds a third when the Doctor practically begs for it. Her walls stretch around her hand and Yaz grinds the heel of her palm against her clit. The Doctor moans loud in her ear and kisses her pulse point, letting out a surprised noise when Yaz’s other hand gropes her breast. Slick sounds fill the room over the monotonous voice of the narrator on the tv and Yaz almost wants to reach over and turn it off (she probably would if she didn’t currently have her hands full).

“Yaz, _please,_ ” the Doctor whimpers.

“Please what?” Yaz husks against the shell of her ear.

“Please let me cum,” the Doctor says.

Yaz curls her fingers up and the Doctor’s hip buck off the couch. “Why?” she asks, slowing down her hand.

The Doctor huffs frustratedly and her eyes clench shut as Yaz continues to ride this out. “ _Yaz_ ,” she whines.

Yaz swipes her thumb hard over her clit and the Doctor jolts, hips lifting up again, trying to chase the pressure.

“I need it, Yaz,” the Doctor says, turning her head to brush her lips against Yaz’s neck. Her teeth graze her jaw and the words are mumbled against her skin, almost as an afterthought. “I need _you_.”

Yaz’s heart thumps hard in her chest — hard enough that she’s almost sure the Doctor can probably feel it against her back — and she uses her free hand to pinch hard at the Doctor’s stiff nipple, rolling it between two fingers as her other hand speeds up. The Doctor grips her thigh in one hand and the back of the couch in the other and her hot breath ghosts over Yaz’s ear.

“Oh, _thank god_ , yes,” she practically sobs.

All it takes are a few well timed swipes to her clit and Yaz growling against her shoulder, “Cum, Doctor.” And the Doctor does just that. She clenches hard around Yaz’s fingers buried three knuckles deep and not stopping their incessant pumping. Her mouth falls open in a loud cry that sounds like half pain, half ecstasy as her body jolts with each new wave of pleasure.

(Thank god the walls in the flat are thick.)

The Doctor repeats her name as Yaz slows her hand, finally coming to a stop. The Doctor pants against the side of her neck and Yaz eventually pulls out, wiping her fingers on her sweats. She rubs soothing shapes over the soft skin of the Doctor’s stomach and closes her eyes as she breathes in the scent of her jumper — a smell that is so uniquely _Doctor_ that it almost surprises her.

They’re quiet for a long while, the only noise in the room is the narrator on the tv talking about beavers (and yes, she does see the irony). The Doctor’s head turns back towards the screen, breath still a bit quick as her body calms down.

She licks her lips. “Did you know beavers mate for life?”

“I didn’t,” Yaz says.

“Think it’d be quite nice,” the Doctor says, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch so she’s sitting correctly. She picks up the half eaten container of noodles and takes a large forkful in her mouth.

“Hm?” Yaz asks distractedly. She moves her leg from where it had fallen asleep between the Doctor and the back of the couch and she tries to get some sort of feeling back into it.

“To mate with one person for life,” the Doctor says, looking over at her. “Find the one that really fits it all together for you.”

Yaz picks up her own half eaten container and shoves noodles in her mouth before she does something stupid like _talk_ or think about the way her heart thumps hard in her chest _._ The Doctor turns back to the screen after a minute and they end up finishing the episode by the time they get to the bottom of their food containers. The Doctor takes their empty containers to the bin and drops her fork in the sink and when she comes back into the living room her jeans are still unbuttoned and hanging open. The top of the thick waistband peeks out and Yaz can just barely make out the design of —

“Are those biscuits?” she asks, raising a brow to the front of the Doctor’s pants.

The Doctor looks down and then her face brightens. “Yeah! Had them special made,” she says, sounding quite chuffed with herself.

“You have specially made underwear with custard creams on them?”

“Well, yeah, that’s the best biscuit,” the Doctor says like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

Yaz stands. “Sorry, didn’t get that memo,” she quips, then picks up the remote and turns the tv off. The room is plunged into darkness and the Doctor’s hand reaches out, finding her own like it’s instinct. “Are you staying?” Yaz asks, voice quiet. Talking any louder just feels wrong.

“Can I?” the Doctor asks, sounding like she actually expects Yaz to say _no_.

“‘course,” Yaz says. The Doctor follows her into the bedroom and Yaz flicks on the light, bathing the room in a warm glow from the lamp on the bedside table. The Doctor moves to the bathroom and closes the door behind her while Yaz lets her sweats fall to the floor, leaving her in just her (the Doctor’s) boxers and t-shirt. The Doctor comes out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth and her jeans hung over her arm.

“‘o you ‘ave a shirt?” she mumbles around the toothbrush.

Yaz hands her an old rugby shirt when she passes by, then goes into the bathroom to brush her own teeth and finally pull her hair out of the bun it’s still in. The Doctor comes back in a few minutes later and spits toothpaste into the sink, Yaz following soon after. Yaz pulls the pins from her hair and runs her fingers through the tangles as the Doctor leaves the bathroom and collapses on the bed (on the side that has sort of become _her_ side of the bed).

Yaz follows a few minutes later, shutting off the bathroom light and slipping underneath the soft sheets, leaning up to turn off the lamp before she fully lays down. The Doctor waits all of a minute and a half before moving over in the bed and pressing a soft kiss to Yaz’s shoulder, like a question. Yaz lifts her arm and the Doctor immediately makes herself fit against her side, one palm laying flat against the bare skin underneath her shirt and tracing slow circles with one fingertip.

Before she fully falls asleep Yaz whispers, “Doctor?”

The Doctor makes a noise against her chest, though she doesn’t sound entirely awake.

“I think it’d be quite nice, too,” Yaz says quietly, almost too quiet to hear. The Doctor doesn’t respond — probably already asleep. Yaz falls asleep a few seconds later and all night she dreams about beavers.

* * *

So, yeah.

The Doctor starts coming over more, they shag on almost every surface of her flat (more than once), and Yaz only has to hide her in the bathroom once when her parents pop by for a surprise visit (to which she fakes a stomach ache and they leave soon after). Sometimes Sonya’s there when the Doctor shows up and they chat amicably, the Doctor helping Sonya with her uni work when she asks.

Their relationship is still…weird. Shaky, like a baby deer on ice. Every time the Doctor looks at her too long or Yaz almost blurts something out when she cums she feels another crack in the stone of what is firmly labelled as a friends-with-benefits type _thing_.

(Let’s be real, she smashed that stone when she let the Doctor come over under the “no sex” terms the first time, and since then every time she comes over without expecting a good shag, the rest of the stone is slowly being turned to dust.)

(And yet neither of them stop to check the damage — to the stone or themselves.)

Yaz sets a steaming mug down in front of the Doctor who sits on the couch, heels resting on the coffee table in front of her and Sonya’s laptop on her lap. Yaz sits next to her and looks over at the word document she’s typing on.

“You really shouldn’t do that for her,” Yaz says.

The Doctor keeps typing, tongue between her lips, then stops and looks up at Yaz, glasses slid halfway down her nose. “I’m not writin’ the whole thing, just the conclusion,” she says like that makes it any better.

“You shouldn’t let her do this either.” Yaz points sternly at her sister.

“Hey, she’s your girlfriend,” Sonya says, typing away at her phone. “Sorry, _not_ -girlfriend.”

Yaz shoots her a glare that she doesn’t see. “I’m like, a cop, you both know that right?”

Sonya finally looks up from her phone at Yaz, not impressed. “What are you gonna do, arrest me? Not like it’s actually illegal, just by uni’s standards.”

Yaz huffs and leans back against the couch. The Doctor’s arm brushes her own as she types and every so often she stops and rereads what she’s written, deleting and adding words and sentences. When she finally stops for good she reads over it for a minute then hands the laptop back to Sonya.

“Right, that should be good,” she says.

“Great, thanks.”

The Doctor then points sternly at Sonya like Yaz had done. “Also, she’s right. I shouldn’t be doin’ that for you.”

Sonya rolls her eyes and closes the laptop, slipping it into her bag and standing up. “Won’t ask again, scouts honor,” she says sarcastically.

“You weren’t a scout,” Yaz states.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sonya replies, the door shutting hard behind her.

“She’s a delight,” the Doctor says and the look on her face is so sincere that Yaz almost believes her.

“My sister is the worst,” Yaz says, bursting into laughter with the Doctor.

* * *

“ _I miss you_.”

The words stop her movements, her heart beating rapidly in her chest (but not because of the words themselves — or not completely because of the words, at least). Yaz is silent for a long moment, trying desperately to figure out what she should say because if she says _I miss you too_ then that feels like an admission of some sort, and if she doesn’t say anything then that’s just rude, and —

“You don’t gotta say it back, Yaz.” The Doctor’s voice isn’t hurt — or, well, it’s not the kind of hurt that’s fresh, not the kind that still has pain behind it. It’s more like acceptance, like she genuinely believes Yaz doesn’t miss her when they’re apart.

(And, okay, their relationship _is_ mostly sex, but _god damn_ if Yaz doesn’t feel like a piece of her breaks off every time the Doctor walks out her front door.)

Yaz swipes a lock of hair from her sweaty forehead. “I miss you too,” she says into her phone, still a little breathless.

“Really?”

Yaz rolls her eyes. Of course she doesn’t believe it. “Yeah, really. You’re nice company,” she says. “Now can we continue, or?”

“Are you close?”

Yaz pulls the toy out then pushes it slowly back in, the stretch and fill causing her eyes to close with a small gasp. “Yeah, pretty close.” She angles it up to rub her g-spot and bites her lip, unable to hold back the soft moan.

“ _God_ , Yaz. If I were there I’d be makin’ you cum over and over. It’s probably my favorite thing to watch,” the Doctor says, sounding just as breathless now. Yaz imagines her rubbing tight circles on her clit in some five star hotel bed in Paris or Italy or wherever the hell she is right now.

“Yeah?” Yaz grunts, increasing her own pace. Her legs fall open just a bit wider, trying to get deeper, _more._ “Hop on a jet and you can.”

The Doctor chuckles softly but it’s cut off by a sharp intake of breath.

“How many?” Yaz asks, already knowing what she’s doing.

“Two.”

“Already?”

“Think you’re way ahead of me. Tryin’a catch up,” the Doctor grunts. Yaz has never wanted anything more than to have it be her fingers fucking the Doctor right now.

Yaz pushes the toy back in until it bottoms out and her back arches. “Oh, fuck,” she pants. If she closes her eyes she can almost see the Doctor there, on her bed, pounding into her erratically and looking down at her with that soft expression she sometimes gets. “When are you next in town?”

“Two weeks, I think,” the Doctor says. Her breathing is heavy now and she keeps making little breathy noises over the phone that is absolutely driving Yaz crazy. “ _Yaz_ ,” she whimpers.

“Close?” Yaz pants. She’s barely hanging on by a thread herself — the coil in her stomach tightening with every hard rub against her g-spot and it gets harder and harder to keep herself from coming.

“Yes.”

“Will you cum with me?”

The Doctor lets out a strangled noise and Yaz takes that as confirmation. She closes her eyes and lets her hand speed up impossibly faster, the wet noise of her fucking herself filling the room. She hopes it’s audible on the phone. “I wish it was you in me, Doctor.”

“ _Yaz_ —“

“ _Cum_ , Doctor. I’m ready,” Yaz says.

The Doctor immediately lets out a loud moan, repeating Yaz’s name as she comes undone. Yaz angles the toy up and that’s all it takes for her own orgasm to follow, wracking through her body in almost painful waves of pleasure. She grits her teeth and keeps up the thrusting, albeit slowing down so as to not overstimulate herself. The Doctor’s name falls from her lips and she can practically see the Doctor on top of her, blonde hair curtaining her face as she watches Yaz come. Her body stiffens and jolts with each shock to her system and a minute later her hand comes to a stop, pulling the toy out with a wet noise.

“Wow,” the Doctor says, breathless.

“Yeah,” Yaz agrees. Her hand drops on the bed beside her and she closes her eyes, the aftershocks still running through her body. Her heart beats hard against her ribs.

“Better in person though, right?” the Doctor asks.

Yaz can’t help the tired smile that forms on her face (and it doesn’t matter cause she’s alone anyways). “Better in person,” she agrees again. “Not gettin’ a big head on me, are you?”

The Doctor scoffs. “Only at stuff I’m good at,” she says, cocky lilt to her voice.

“Great, I’ve given you a big head,” Yaz groans.

“Think I’ve quite earned it, thank you.”

* * *

Sonya bursts through the door like she does every other time, then stops in her tracks. Yaz jumps back from the Doctor, hand going behind her back to wipe at her jeans. Sonya looks between them, at the flushed look on the Doctor’s face and Yaz’s hand behind her back and the Doctor still against the counter from where Yaz had been pushing against her just seconds earlier.

“Really?” she asks exasperatedly. “You knew I was coming.”

“Yeah, _later_ ,” Yaz counters.

“It is later.”

Yaz turns around and looks at the clock on the stove — shit, she’s right.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” Sonya crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not buying dinner tonight, just for walking in on that.”

“It is _my_ flat, you remember that, right?”

“You invited me,” Sonya says, moving to the chair and dropping her bag next to her. “Get me some,” she says when she hears Yaz open the fridge. “Wash your hands first, please.”

Yaz rolls her eyes but does wash her hands, then pours three cups of juice while the Doctor discreetly buttons her pants and goes out to the living room, plopping down on the sofa. Sonya sits on the armchair with her legs over the arm rest and picks up the remote, clicking the tv on.

Yaz carries the three cups to the living room, handing one to Sonya and one to the Doctor before sitting down on the couch next to her. She pulls one leg up underneath her and leans against the couch, arm slung over the back. The Doctor leans against her side as she pulls out her phone and starts to scroll through dinner options, reading out restaurant names to Sonya every so often.

The Doctor strokes shapes onto her knee with the tip of her finger. She looks tired — she’s been working a lot recently and it’s been almost a month since their last night together and Yaz can see the toll it’s taking on her. Sonya picks a film and plays on her phone until the food arrives, and then they all sit eating greasy pizza until only one slice remains in the box. Yaz scratches absentmindedly at the back of the Doctor’s neck, eyes trained on the tv in front of them. Her mind isn’t on the film or on Sonya, but only the Doctor and the warm body pressed to her side and the heavy breathing on her neck as she sleeps peacefully through the entire movie.

Sonya leaves when it’s over, tossing a napkin and plate into the empty box and slipping on her shoes at the door. Yaz slowly nudges the Doctor from her shoulder and manages to not wake her when she stands from the couch.

At the door Sonya opens it and turns, looking up at her older sister. “Mum and dad want you to come over for dinner next week,” she says, then looks over Yaz’s shoulder at the Doctor. “Maybe you could bring your girlfriend.”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “Not my girlfriend, Son. Stop callin’ her that.”

Sonya looks back over at her sister, expression unreadable until she raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. “Yaz—“

“Stop it, Sonya. I’m bein’ serious.”

“And so am I!” Sonya hisses. “Yaz, you’ve got to’ve seen it by now.”

“Goodnight, Sonya,” Yaz says, starting to close the door.

“I’m just sayin’, you need to figure that out.” At that Sonya turns on her heel and starts off down the hall and towards the lift.

Yaz watches her sister’s retreating form, then closes the door quietly. She turns around to find the Doctor sitting up, mouth open in a wide yawn.

“Did Sonya leave?” she asks, rubbing her face with the palm of her hand.

Yaz picks up the empty pizza box (after the Doctor pulls her back and takes the last cold slice) and puts it in the bin, putting their cups in the sink as well. The Doctor lays on her back, eyes closed and mouth slowly chewing a bite of the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Do you think your sister likes me?” the Doctor asks when Yaz comes back in the room.

Yaz makes a face as she sits down on the end of the couch. The Doctor lifts her head to let her sit and then rests it on her thighs. “Your sister, do you think she likes me?”

“Well she walked in on me three fingers deep in you earlier, so that’s probably up in the air.”

The Doctor looks offended. “That’s not _my_ fault!” she protests around the pizza in her mouth.

“What, you’re sayin’ it’s my fault?”

“Well…”

“I told you the time she were s’posed to be here — you could’ve been watching the time too. I seem to remember you were even facing the clock,” Yaz counters, looking down and running her fingers through soft blonde hair. The Doctor’s eyes close at her soft touch and Yaz scratches lightly at her scalp. “Yeah, think she does, though.”

The Doctor’s grin is infectious. “Brilliant. I like to think I’m pretty good at meeting the fam.”

“The fam?”

“Family. Isn’t that the cool lingo used by kids nowadays?”

“Not for that kind of family.”

“Oh.” They’re quiet for a long moment, the credits playing slowly on the tv. “Do you wanna go to a party with me?”

Yaz’s hand moves from her hair and traces the line of her jaw with her thumb. She pulls the Doctor’s bottom lip down, watching as her mouth opens easily, tongue darting out to lick the pad of her thumb.

“Another one?” Yaz asks, voice low. Her thumb moves past her lips, then past her teeth, hooking down and holding her mouth open. The Doctor nods as best she can and looks up at Yaz, eyes swimming with desire. Yaz smiles softly down at her and removes the finger from her mouth. “I’d love to.” She tosses the blanket sitting next to her on the Doctor’s face and stands up. “Help me with the dishes?”

She’s being fucked against the counter barely ten minutes later, dishes forgotten in the sink. It seems like that happens a lot (the against the counter thing), and Yaz genuinely isn’t sure how it happens like, every time. The Doctor bites down on her shoulder and licks up her neck, nipping at her jaw and panting in her ear.

Yaz’s hips buck forward and she throws her head back. “Oh god. _Fuck_ , Doctor. I need —“ her words cut off when the Doctor’s thumb starts to rub harshly at her throbbing clit. “Oh god,” she whimpers helplessly, letting her body succumb to every feeling of pleasure the Doctor brings.

“What do you need, Yasmin?” the Doctor husks into her ear, pulling at the lobe with her teeth.

“You. I need you, Doctor,” Yaz babbles, words spilling from her mouth without a second thought.

The Doctor’s fingers falter for barely a second — unnoticeable if she hadn’t been three fingers deep — and she pulls away slightly, looking at Yaz with an unreadable expression.

(Unreadable might be a bit much — Yaz can read the expression clear as day but doesn’t let herself analyze it.)

Then she curls her fingers forward and Yaz cums hard, body stiffening against the counter, hand gripping harshly to blonde hair. A moan bubbles from her chest and it sounds a lot like the Doctor’s name — the only word left in her vocabulary as her orgasm takes hold and washes her out with it. She moans _thank you_ and _don’t stop_ and _god, I think I love you_ and neither of them mentions it after Yaz cums again not a minute later.

* * *

Yaz can’t go to dinner the next week and she spends it stuck on the night shift, mostly talking to the Doctor who is back in Dubai or something. She promises her mum she’ll come next week, and she intends to keep the promise.

The Doctor chatters excitedly in her ear about the upcoming party as Yaz sits in her parked cruiser, waiting for someone to speed fast enough to warrant an excuse to pull them over.

“I got an _ice sculpture_ , Yaz.”

“What for?”

“Because it’s _cool_!” she insists.

“You sure about that?” Yaz quips, glancing up at the road before looking back down at her book.

“Yaz, of course I’m sure. I’ll have you know I’ve thrown a ton of fancy parties before.”

“Just because you’ve thrown fancy parties doesn’t mean they’ve been good.”

“You’re uninvited. I don’t want you to come,” the Doctor says and Yaz can practically _hear_ the pout in her voice.

“Who’s gonna be your date, then?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor’s voice is deadpan serious when she says, “Your mum.”

“Oi, that’s not funny,” Yaz warns, voice cracking with a laugh despite herself. “You are definitely not my mum’s type.”

“I’m sure we’d be very happy together.”

“Stop it, now it’s just creepy. Don’t need to think about you shaggin’ my mum when you’re shaggin’ me.”

* * *

Yaz is barely halfway done with her makeup when the Doctor knocks on the door. She lets her in then turns on her heel and goes back into the bathroom.

“I’m almost done, swear it,” she says. “You said I can get dressed on the plane, right?”

“Yeah, won’t be a problem. Is this your dress?” the Doctor asks, looking at the dress hanging on a clothes hanger from her bedroom door.

Yaz turns around, mascara wand in her hand. “Yeah, thought it’d go well with yours.”

The Doctor looks down to the fitted black suit she wears, trainers a clean, polished white and trousers that don’t quite reach her ankle. She nods approvingly at the dress. “I like it.”

She walks into the bathroom and puts the toilet seat down, sitting on top of it and looking up at Yaz. “Dunno how you do all that. I can barely use mascara without poking myself in the eye.”

“Lots of practice,” Yaz says, working slow as she tries not to move her lips while she puts on a deep red lipstick.

“Is that the same one from —“

“No, and if you kiss me you’ll definitely ruin it.”

Yaz must not have been paying much attention because suddenly the Doctor is behind her, pressing her into the bathroom counter with her hips. “Who said anything about kissin’?” she asks, lips ghosting over the back of Yaz’s exposed neck.

The Doctor pulls at the hem of her t-shirt and runs her hands over a toned stomach. Her fingers play with the tie on Yaz’s sweats but never dip further than the waistband, fingers hooking on it and tugging lightly. She kisses the back of Yaz’s neck and nuzzles her skin.

“We don’t have all night,” Yaz says.

The Doctor looks up from her neck and meets her eyes, raises a brow. Yaz does the same, and really, she doesn’t stand a chance.

The Doctor’s hand is down the front of her sweats and swiping through wet heat in an instant, fingers immediately finding her clit. Yaz wasn’t really prepared for it all at once and drops the capped lipstick in the sink, palm slamming against the counter to hold herself up. The Doctor makes quick work of her (expert work, if Yaz would admit it), bringing her to a whimpering mess with a few quick strokes. Yaz’s head falls back against the Doctor’s shoulder but fingers stop their movements on her clit.

“Watch,” the Doctor growls against her neck. Yaz’s eyes immediately snap open and she lifts her head to watch the Doctor pull her shirt up over her breasts. “Hold this.”

Yaz does as told and watches while experienced fingers unhook the front clasp of her bra and palm her breast. The Doctor’s mouth is back on her neck and her fingers start up again, bringing her back to the point of her thighs shaking. She pinches at her nipple, tugging at the short barbell once before palming her breast again with her entire hand.

They breathe fast in tandem as Yaz feels her orgasm build underneath her skin, deep in the pit of her stomach. She clenches around nothing as the Doctor keeps up the assault on her clit, not letting up in the slightest. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, like she’s going to burst into flames and all that will be left is a pile of ash.

And then she cums — _hard_. She doesn’t close her eyes, doesn’t look away from the Doctor’s burning gaze. She watches herself get fucked in the mirror and the Doctor’s hand grope her breast and her body jolt with each shock of pleasure that hits her system and when she finally calms down the Doctor pulls her hand out of her sweats.

“You better not wipe those on my pants,” Yaz says, looking down at her wet hand in the mirror. The Doctor raises a brow and brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking each one clean with a satisfied expression.

Yaz messes up her lipstick. She doesn’t care.

The flight is barely an hour and a half long and Yaz gets changed in the fairly spacious bathroom. She slips her shoes on and steps out of the bathroom, holding the dress to the front of her.

“Can you zip this?” she asks, looking down to make sure she doesn’t trip. When she looks back up the Doctor is staring at her, mouth slightly open and tongue darting between chapped lips. Her eyes flick fast over her form, never settling on one part until they land on the sight of toned abs from the open part on the front of the dress. “You gonna keep starin’ like a perv or help me?”

The Doctor shoots up from the seat, book dropping to the floor without notice. She noticeably wipes her hands on her trousers before approaching. Yaz turns around and moves her hair out of the way as the Doctor pulls the zipper up slowly. She places one soft kiss to the back of Yaz’s neck and murmurs, “Y’look lovely.”

Yaz turns and reaches out to straighten the lapel of the Doctor’s jacket, holding onto it. “You’re not half bad either.”

The Doctor scoffs. “Half bad? I’ll have you know —“

“— _this suit costs 6 billion pounds and is made out of pure gold_ ,” Yaz mocks.

“I didn’t have to invite you, you know.”

Yaz looks down and runs her hand down the front of the Doctor’s shirt before looking back up at hazel eyes. “Yeah, but you love seein’ me in a dress far too much to pass up this opportunity.”

The Doctor’s eyes drop back down to take in her form, the way the dress clings to her every curve, her abs on display. Her hand reaches out to place a palm on the bare skin and Yaz’s stomach tightens.

“So you like the dress?” Yaz asks with a raise of her brow.

“Most definitely,” the Doctor breathes. When her eyes drag back up Yaz’s body they’re dark and wanting.

Yaz smirks, taking a step back then. “Think we’re almost there,” she says, sitting down in the seat the Doctor had previously been sitting in and picking up the book from the floor, crossing her legs at the knee.

The Doctor sits across from her, leaning back, legs spread (like a man would). She chews on her thumb as she watches Yaz, the other hand resting on the inside of her thigh. Yaz ignores her and starts where the bookmark had been placed (she says bookmark — it’s a spoon).

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Yaz says, not looking up. A minute later she hears the sound of a camera shutter and sees the Doctor’s phone in front of her. The Doctor brings it closer to look at the picture, apparently satisfied as she puts it back in her pocket a minute later.

The party is extremely boring for Yaz who doesn’t understand (or care) what these old dudes are talking about, and who they are in the company. Don’t get her wrong — the party itself isn’t boring, it’s all the old white men who think they know better than her on things that aren’t even work related.

The ice sculpture _is_ pretty cool, though.

Yaz takes another sip of her drink and leans against a standing table, watching the Doctor talk to a group of people at the other end of the spacious room. A ton of people are here and more than one bumps into her on their way towards the open bar. Yaz drags her eyes back to the Doctor, laughing loud and wide, head tilted back. She looks at ease here, in her element. She talks easily with everyone with an air of confidence and openness that really has Yaz understanding why all these people work for her.

The Doctor pushes blonde hair back behind her ear, tongue caught between her lips as she intently listens to whatever the woman in front of her says. When there’s a lull in the conversation her head suddenly shoots up and her eyes scan the crowd. Eventually they rake through everyone, landing on Yaz, and she gives a soft smile, holding up her glass. Yaz takes a sip of her own amber liquid with the Doctor, then the Doctor turns back to her conversation.

The Doctor sidles up next to her a little bit later when her group disperses and she slides an arm around Yaz’s waist. “Enjoyin’ yourself?”

Yaz turns in her grasp and reaches up to smooth a hand over her jacket, palm resting over her left breast. “Loads,” Yaz lies, not very well.

“Yeah, these parties are probably pretty boring for someone not in the company. Didn’t even think about that. Sorry, Yaz.”

“I guess I’ll forgive you,” Yaz says. “S’long as you top tonight. And you’ve gotta wear this suit more often.” She pulls back and eyes the suit the Doctor wears — tight in all the right places and actually driving Yaz at least a little bit crazy since she’d seen her earlier.

The Doctor raises a brow but looks up at Yaz with a grin. “Alright, deal.”

“Right, this place have bathrooms?” Yaz asks, pulling the Doctor’s arm from around her waist and unconsciously hooking a finger around a slim wrist.

“Oh! Yeah, over there. Do you want me to hold your drink?”

Yaz sets the drink down on the table and raises her chin a little, meeting the Doctor’s gaze head on. “No, I want to fuck you in the bathroom.”

The Doctor’s mouth gapes open and closed like a fish and she looks around them quickly, apparently trying to see if anyone heard her. “Yaz, we can’t do that _here._ What if someone catches us?”

“You didn’t have a problem with it when you had your hand down my pants at my parents flat,” Yaz notes.

The Doctor scoffs. “That is hardly the same thing — also, we weren’t — _y’know, in public._ ”

Yaz takes a step back with a raised brow, a challenge. “Two minutes,” she says, then turns on her heel and starts off towards the women’s restroom, leaving a flustered Doctor in her wake.

It’s (thankfully) unoccupied and Yaz leans against the sink, waiting.

Almost exactly two minutes later the door opens and the Doctor steps in, looking wary. She bends down and looks underneath the stalls for feet and when she’s satisfied she turns back to Yaz, fingers tapping out a rhythm on her leg. She looks like she tries to keep the confidence she had out in the crowd but falters slightly at Yaz’s intense gaze.

“Do you — or do you want me to —“

Yaz moves from the sink and pushes her into the stall behind her, locking the door behind them. She hastily unbuttons the Doctor’s trousers and the Doctor untucks her shirt, apparently trying to help. The first swipe with her fingers has the Doctor gasping into her mouth, pulling at Yaz’s shoulders to get her closer.

“Don’t be too loud. Can’t have them all knowing I’m in here fuckin’ you,” Yaz murmurs against her lips.

The Doctor lets out a strangled groan but nods, biting her lip as Yaz plays with her, rubbing circles around her clit but nothing more. The Doctor is ridiculously wet and Yaz slips one finger in with ease.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” the Doctor moans loudly, the words echoing around the bathroom.

Yaz licks at her throat and pulls at the chain of her earring with her teeth. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry — sorry, Yaz. I’ll — I won’t —“

Yaz slowly pushes her finger in until her knuckles brush wet skin. The Doctor clenches erratically around the intrusion and her hips rock forward, needing more.

“Yaz, _please._ I need more,” she whimpers.

“Dunno if you can take more.”

“I can, please just —“ Her head falls back and hits the wall with a dull thud when Yaz starts to pump her finger in. She kisses up the Doctor’s neck and licks at her thumping pulse point. The music playing at the party is thankfully louder than the wet noises coming from the Doctor’s cunt as Yaz speeds up her hand. The Doctor sucks in a deep breath and pulls Yaz’s lips back to her own, groaning quietly into her mouth.

When they part Yaz takes in her in — the tight grip on the plastic toilet paper case and the way her leg has moved up to wrap around the back of Yaz’s thigh and white teeth biting down hard on her bottom lip as she’s brought to the peak. Her hips buck against Yaz’s hand helplessly, needy expression written clear on her face.

Then the bathroom door opens.

The Doctor’s eyes widen and she starts to drop her leg but Yaz shakes her head, slowing down her hand but not completely stopping. The Doctor looks like she’s going to say something but Yaz presses her other hand over her mouth before she can get a sound out.

Heels click against the tile and someone goes in the stall at the end, sitting down heavily on the toilet. Yaz curls her fingers forward and the Doctor looks down at her tense wrist, then back up to Yaz. Yaz raises a brow, the Doctor sighs breathes heavy through her nose, hot air hitting the top of Yaz’s hand. The woman starts peeing (thankfully the sound is dulled by music).

Yaz starts up her thrusts again and drops her hand. The Doctor cups the back of her neck, lifting her leg to get her deeper and rutting her hips forward as best she can. The woman in the stall flushes the toilet and goes to the sinks to (hopefully) wash her hands. Yaz brings the Doctor to the peak easily, moving her thumb to rub at her clit while the sink turns on. There’s the sound of paper towels being pulled out of the holder and the Doctor clutches at her shoulders, a deep crease between her brows.

Yaz shakes her head, nodding towards the door (and the woman drying her hands). The Doctor shuts her eyes tight and Yaz flicks her clit, causing her eyes to fly back open. Yaz raises a brow. The woman in the bathroom throws the paper towels in the bin, then the door opens and music becomes unmuffled as it pours in.

“Cum, Doctor,” Yaz says as soon as the door closes.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” the Doctor groans as Yaz curls her fingers forward, and a few seconds later her body stiffens and jolts, hips bucking towards her hand. She clenches hard and her head hits the wall again. “ _Yaz_.”

Yaz slows her hand, then pulls out. Her hand brushes against the Doctor’s clit and the Doctor ruts her hips forward unconsciously. Yaz smirks and pulls away, wiping her hand on some toilet paper before flushing it. The Doctor’s eyes flit about her face then she bites her lip, looking like she’s trying not to laugh.

“You’ve got a little…” she trails off, pointing around her mouth where her own lips are painted red.

Her lipstick. _Damn it_.

Yaz leaves the stall and checks the damage. Her lipstick is smudged all around her mouth like a sad clown. A sad clown that just fucked a hot woman in the bathroom.

She gets a wet paper towel and wipes her lips and around her mouth, then turning around and doing the same to the Doctor like she’s a child.

“I could’ve done that,” the Doctor says mumbles against the paper towel.

“Probably,” Yaz hums. She throws the towel in the bin then reaches into the Doctor’s right pocket.

“Uh, Yaz? What are you doin’?”

Yaz pulls out the lipstick tube she’d put in there before they left. “Don’t got pockets on this dress,” she explains, uncapping the tube and starting to apply it carefully in the mirror. The Doctor looks confused behind her and sticks her hands in her pockets to see if she’s carrying anything else she didn’t know about. She finds Yaz’s phone and wallet in her jacket pocket and looks equally confused. Yaz hands her the tube of lipstick and she sticks it back in her trousers.

They don’t stay much longer. The Doctor makes a last round with Yaz at her side — close but not touching, just the barest of brush of hands — and then the Doctor is leading her out of the venue and into a waiting car where a driver takes them to the waiting jet.

Yaz is dead tired when they get back to her flat and the Doctor drops the pair of heels she’d been carrying for Yaz at the front door, toeing off her own shoes next to them.

“Are you staying?” Yaz asks from the bedroom.

“Can I?”

Yaz tosses a shirt on the bed for the Doctor and walks back out to the living room where she stands. She turns around and pulls her hair to the side to expose the zipper. The Doctor unzips the dress and Yaz turns back around, fingers going to the buttons on the Doctor’s jacket.

“‘course. It’s your turn to top anyways,” she says with a raise of her brow.

The Doctor’s eyes flash and she grabs Yaz’s wrists in an instant, her grip hard as she leads her backwards into the bedroom, mischievous grin on her face and glint in her eyes.

* * *

The picture almost causes her to drop her phone. It’s sent a minute before Yaz is about to leave her flat to go upstairs for dinner with her mum and Sonya (her dad is stuck at work, apparently). The Doctor is wearing a different set of sheer boxers and sports bra. Hard nipples poke from the bra and the Doctor’s hand cups herself over the boxers.

A bolt of heat shoots through her and she texts, _I’m about to go have dinner with my mum and Sonya._

The reply comes barely ten seconds later.

_I know._

Yaz ignores the way her clit throbs and presses the power button, sticking her phone in her pocket. She locks her door then takes the lift upstairs, unlocking the front door to the Khan flat (that’s what the Doctor calls it).

“Mum?”

“Just setting out the food, honey,” her mum says from the kitchen. “Can you get the plates?”

Yaz pulls three plates from the cabinet and sets them on the table. Her mum brings a pot of rice and spoons some on each plate, then comes back and spoons out the chicken and sauce as well. Sonya comes out of her room and pours herself a cup of juice before going to sit down next to Yaz at the table.

Yaz, for her part, doesn’t look like she was just looking at another sext from the Doctor — well not until Sonya glances at where she has a death grip on her phone (screen off, thank god) and raises an eyebrow.

“Really? At the dinner table?” she hisses. Yaz kicks her.

“How’s work been?” her mum asks, sitting down at the table with them.

“It’s good,” Yaz says, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Was on night shift all last week.”

“Must’ve been a pain on your sleep schedule,” her mum says.

Yaz shrugs. “I don’t mind much.”

“Have they sent you anywhere interesting?”

The question catches Yaz off guard and she looks up from her plate, brows furrowed. Sonya does the same, looking between them like it’s a tennis match. “What you mean? They don’t send me outside of this area.”

Her mum puts her fork down and wipes her mouth with her napkin, then pulls her phone out of her pocket.

“Jennifer — you know her, from the office — went to the company party this past weekend, and she posted this picture with her husband.”

Time moves in slow motion as her mum taps a few times on the screen, then turns the phone around for Yaz (and Sonya right next to her) to see.

It’s a picture of Yaz. Or more specifically, it’s a picture a couple, and in the background is Yaz. Yaz and the Doctor. From two nights ago. From the company party where Yaz f —

The picture is quite a bit shocking to look at — and not only just because it’s her mum holding it out and looking at her expectantly. It’s the look on Yaz’s face in the picture, looking at the Doctor who is grinning up at her. Yaz rests her hand on lapel of her jacket, body pressed into her, and the Doctor’s arm holds tight around her waist. Yaz is looking at her with the softest smile she’s ever seen on herself and Sonya’s words suddenly come back to her — _Yaz, you’ve got to’ve seen it by now_.

Well god damn, she’s seeing it now.

Her mum raises an eyebrow.

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> don’t look at me. send prompts to @zanthetran on tumblr or just to listen to my general screaming about this fic (and doctor who in general). tag is #milf au


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